


Say What You Wish

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Aladdin, Alternate Universe - Disney, Explicit Language, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Humor, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Disney’s <i>Aladdin</i> AU. </p><p>Life on the streets of Agrabah isn't kind to Dean and his younger brother Sam as they struggle to scrape by. Meanwhile, Prince Castiel is being forced to marry by the ruthless Sultan, his older brother Raphael, as part of his war schemes. When a dark stranger and a twist of luck lead Dean to acquire the genie of the lamp, Gabriel, will he be able to use his three wishes to turn his life - and the kingdom - around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: No Ordinary Lamp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whit Merule (whit_merule)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whit_merule/gifts).



> Written for whit merule as part of the [Secret Lovers Exchange](http://team-free-love.livejournal.com/) over on LJ. 
> 
> You asked for: "'Aladdin', with Gabriel as the genie bound to service and Dean as Aladdin (trying to get off the streets to support his little brother, maybe?). Casting of other characters (as well as pairings, if any, and what happens in the end) up to the author." 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

_When the wind's from the east_   
_And the sun's from the west_   
_And the sand in the glass is right_

The merchant was the lonely street’s sole occupant, idly arranging his wares alone in the cool night air. By day, this market in the center of Agrabah bustled: people shouting and bargaining, crowding each other to obtain the goods their families needed. By night, rats (of both the literal and metaphorical persuasions) cleaned up the detritus left behind by the day’s activities.

The merchant drew a dull, aged brass lamp from beneath the counter of his stall, holding it up so that it caught the moonlight. He smiled as he turned it this way and that, admiring the dusty relic as if it were something remarkably special. Briefly, the moon illuminated his eyes, which shone the same golden hue of the lamp. He tucked the object away carefully, still smiling to himself.

Some things are more than they appear to be.


	2. Chapter 1: Arabian Nights

_A fool off his guard_   
_Could fall and fall hard_   
_Out there on the dunes_

Crowley was growing tired of waiting. His mount dozed idly beneath him, the sleek black stallion as bored as he was with standing atop a dune in the desert on a dark night. He wondered for the dozenth time just how much mind-blowing wealth he had to promise someone to ensure punctuality. The small metal object in his hand, fashioned in the shape of half of a scarab beetle, remained icy no matter how long he held it. He looked up as he heard hoof beats thundering over the dune. Gazeem finally arrived, he and his mount both out of breath.

"You," Crowley growled, "are late."

"A thousand apologies, oh patient one," Gazeem groveled, dismounting. His voice was like the scrape of wind-blown sand over bare skin.

"Well?" Crowley asked. "Do you have it or not?" He needed to get better lackeys. Ones who did their jobs instead of groveling. Although the groveling wasn't so bad, really.

"I had to slit a few throats," Gazeem grinned as he approached Crowley, who had not dismounted, "but I got it." He showed Crowley the object in his hand, moonlight glinting off the metal of the half scarab that was the mate to the one Crowley held. Crowley reached to take it, but Gazeem snatched it back. "Ah, ah," he said, "first, the treasure." Crowley moved lightning quick, pressing the tip of a blade to Gazeem’s throat, forcing his head to tip back. He held out his other hand: Gazeem dropped the half-beetle into his waiting palm.

"Trust me, my pungent friend," Crowley said, sheathing his blade. "You’ll get what’s coming to you." Carefully, Crowley brought the two halves of the beetle together. They glowed as the seam between them fused, suddenly colder in his hand, before the scarab came to life. It shook out its wings, paused for a moment, and then took flight. "Quickly, follow it!" Crowley said, spurring his mount to life. They raced across the dunes, kicking up plumes of sand, before the beetle plunged into the earth like a meteor strike.

Their horses backed nervously as the ground beneath them began to shake, lights flashing beneath the sand. _At last_ , Crowley thought, after years of searching the Cave of Wonders would be his. The ground swelled up in front of them, an upheaval of tumbling sand that raced towards the night sky. Two glowing points coalesced into eyes, a tiger’s mouth unleashing a thundering roar as it reared its head. The tiger opened its mouth, a golden light spilling out across the dunes and revealing stairs descending down its throat.

"By Allah," Gazeem gasped, staring transfixed at the beast before him.

"The Cave of Wonders," Crowley sneered. "Well, go on." Gazeem looked at him, eyes fearful. "Remember, bring me the lamp. The rest of the treasure is yours, but the lamp is mine!" Gazeem seemed to come back to himself at the mention of the treasure, dismounting and carefully approaching the tiger’s mouth.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" The ground shook with the voice of the tiger.

"It is I, Gazeem, a humble thief." Gazeem bowed as he stuttered out the words.

"Know this: only one may enter here. One whose worth lies far within. A diamond in the rough." Following its pronouncement the tiger stilled, mouth open and waiting.

Gazeem glanced back at Crowley one more time, before cautiously stepping forward. He clambered clumsily over the tiger’s sandy lip, taking a deep breath before gingerly placing one foot on the first step leading down into the golden glow. He held his breath, waited, then exhaled in relief. He smiled as he stepped onto the second step. Just as he moved the tiger roared, shaking. Gazeem screamed as he was tossed helplessly down its throat. The mouth closed and the tiger began to dissolve back into the sand.

"Seek thee out, the diamond in the rough," the tiger’s voice echoed as the last of its glow faded. The metal scarab halves rested darkly on the sand.

"Bollocks." That had not gone according to plan. Crowley walked his mount towards the dull bits of metal, soothing the beast with gentle words. He dismounted and collected the icy metal, turning the halves over in his palm. "Diamond in the rough, eh?" he repeated to himself.


	3. Chapter 2: Street Rats

_Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat,_   
_Otherwise, we’d get along?_   
_Wrong!_

"Stop, thief!" the guard shouted. He sprinted down the dusty alleyway after Dean Winchester, fist tight on the handle of his sword. "I’ll have your hands for a trophy!"

"Morning, ladies!" Dean called out as he ran past the local brothel.

"Getting into trouble a little early this morning, aren’t you, Dean?" asked one of the girls.

"Nah," he said, slowing down to talk to the girl who had spoken, "You’re only in trouble if you get caught." He flashed her a grin.

"I’ve got you!" the guard shouted, lunging towards Dean. Dean took off, narrowly escaping the man’s lumbering grasp.

"I’m in trouble!" he shouted, smiling at the giggles he left in his wake.

"You’re a one man rise in crime, that’s what you are!" called one of the girls.

Dean skidded around a corner into an alley that opened out onto one of the main streets. He stepped through a doorway, the opening obscured by heavy cloth that was nearly indistinguishable from the wall surrounding it.

"All this for a loaf of bread?" he muttered to himself, ascending the stairs in the dark, cool interior of the building. He heard the guard’s footsteps thunder past outside. The man would probably think Dean had disappeared onto the main avenue, lost among the crowd. Dean did not envy him; Alistair, captain of the palace’s guard and in charge of policing the city of Agrabah, was a heartless bastard.

Dean squinted against the sunlight as he emerged onto the flat roof. Two rooftops over, he spied the lanky form of his brother, back resting against a wooden crate. Dean made his way over, vaulting across the narrow gaps where there wasn’t a plank laid as a bridge.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, as Sam stood up to greet him. "I brought us lunch." He flourished the loaf of bread he had stolen. He and his brother were dressed alike: loose harem pants that ended just below the knee and a light vest that left their chests exposed.

"Great," Sam answered, a little breathlessly, and Dean was painfully reminded of how they’d been forced to skip the previous night’s dinner. His fault, really. He shoved the loaf at Sam.

"That’s yours." Sam quirked a quizzical eyebrow. "I already ate," Dean lied with a shrug. He was hungry, but at eighteen Sam was practically still growing, new muscle slowly filling out his over-large frame. He’d gotten taller than Dean a year or two ago, and didn’t ever let Dean forget it.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said. "Any trouble from the guards?" he asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Nah, nothing I couldn’t handle." Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, anyways. "Those guys just don’t appreciate what it means to be broke." Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement.

They sat on the roof together, shoulders brushing, as Sam ate. "Here," he said, a few minutes later, passing the last third of the loaf to Dean. Dean narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, but Sam kept his face innocent. "I’m full. That was a big loaf, Hassim must be getting soft on you." He smiled as his brother bit into the bread. Sam's suspicions were confirmed by the speed with which his brother ate.

"Yeah, well, gotta keep you fed, gigantor," Dean mumbled around a mouthful. The loaf was studded with nuts and seeds and dried fruits: clearly, in the half instant he had taken to nick it from Hassim's stall, he had chosen well. This shit was delicious, and Dean didn't think that was just the hunger talking. In the distance, music began to ring out.

"What the hell is that?" Sam said, standing. Dean stood, biting off another mouthful of bread as he followed his brother. They moved across rooftops, above the streets to avoid the guards, making their way towards the music. On the main approach to the palace, a parade was making its way down the street.

They backtracked to a stairway that granted them access to the street below, slipping in behind the crowd in the shadow of the buildings. The parade spanned the available space in the narrow street, forcing the customers at the merchants' stalls to move out of its way.

"Another suitor for the prince," grouched Dean. "Great." He eyed the heavy wooden chests being carried by servants: proof of this suitor’s wealth, no doubt, of her suitability for the prince. If he could get his hands on one of those, he and Sammy would never have to steal to eat again.

Suddenly, a pair of playing children ran into the street, into the suitor's path. She halted her horse, sneering at the children.

"Out of my way," she shouted, uncoiling her whip. Sam and Dean reacted in the same instant: they sprinted into the street after the children, Sam scooping them up and tucking them back into the safety of the crowd, as Dean blocked the whip with his arm. Luckily for him, the woman was inept with the thing and hadn’t managed to crack it properly. He grabbed hold of it and yanked it from her grip.

"You know, if I was as rich as you, I could afford some manners." He tossed the whip back at the woman, who caught it with a glare. She walked her horse forward to draw level with Dean. He faced her defiantly.

"I’ll teach you some manners, street rat," she said, kicking him in the chest. The blow took Dean by surprise and he tumbled to the ground. The crowd laughed as the suitor rode on. Dean stood and dusted himself off, his brother grabbing his arm and leading him away as the crowd dissipated.

"'Street rat'," Dean muttered, dusting at his bruised ass again. "I don’t buy it. Those assholes don’t have any idea what it’s like, living like this."

"I know, Dean," Sam answered, indulging his brother’s need to vent even though he had heard this speech before. A few thousand times. "But we have each other, right?"

"Right," Dean answered, slinging an arm around Sam’s shoulders. Sam pretended to try to shrug him off: the streets were quiet, but they weren’t alone.

"We’re lucky all you got was knocked on your ass, too, Dean. You can’t just piss off people with power, you know that."

"Sammy, I wasn’t gonna let her whip the kids." Dean dropped his arm from Sam's shoulders, splaying his hands wide in front of him.

"And I wasn’t either, Dean! But getting them out of the way was enough. You taunted her," Sam said, giving Dean a pointed look.

"Yeah, well, I like to keep things interesting," Dean smirked. Sam knew that was all the apology he was going to get, so he accepted his brother’s good-natured joke with a short laugh.

They ducked behind a tattered curtain and made their way up the stairs of an abandoned building, ducking fallen beams and sidestepping the debris partially blocking the way until they emerged onto the top floor. The building was on a hillside towards the edge of the city, so when Sam brushed back the curtain over the window opening, cool night air blew in with the sight of the palace. The bulbous golden towers were reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. Dean huffed irritatedly in the general direction of the palace.

"Wonder what’s on the menu tonight in the land of the royal genies?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes. "Maybe Sultan Raphael started a new war today, to celebrate the arrival of another filthy-rich suitor." Since losing their father to one of the sultan's ceaseless campaigns, Dean had become rather violently anti-war.

"Dean," Sam said, but Dean would not be placated.

"He’s the reason we have to live like this, you know? That bastard Raphael orphaned us. I mean, mom…" Dean trailed off, swallowing: Sam had been too young to remember, but the events of that night and the fateful fire that swept the city were quite literally burned into Dean's memory. "And then dad, so we're just another set of kids growing up without parents, no one to teach us a trade or even make sure we were fed."

"You did all of those things for me, Dean. And we get by." Sam was right: they did scrape by. Con-man skills they picked up as they went, working whatever kind of jobs they could find. Lately, though, the Palace Guard had been out in force because new suitors were visiting every week and the city had to look pretty enough to marry. Dean and Sam were both anxious for the prince to just fucking pick someone so their business might get back to normal, so they wouldn’t have to steal bread to eat anymore. Or at least not as often.

"And what kind of arrogance is that, really?" Dean continued. "Claiming their ancestors were fucking genies. Literally! Screwing mythical beings! Emphasis on the myth," he spat.

"What, you don’t believe in genies?" Sam teased.

"I believe in what I can see, okay?" Dean answered. "What I can hold in my hands. What I can touch." Sam moved closer, wrapping his arms around his brother. "Sammy," Dean said, tensing as Sam pulled him close, but unable to resist winding his arms around Sam’s shoulders.

"Sh, Dean, it’s okay." Sam tucked his nose against his brother’s neck. "It’s been a long day, yeah?" His voice was muffled against his brother’s skin as he traced his hands over Dean’s sides, his stomach, his back.

"Yeah," Dean murmured. He felt himself relaxing against Sam in spite of his anger, exhausted.

"Let’s go to sleep," Sam said.

"Just sleep," Dean replied, trying not to tense against the wave of warmth that shouldn't be washing through him at Sam's proximity. He knew there was something between he and Sam that wasn’t normal. As much they both tried to fight it, there were certain comforts they had come to allow themselves. Compromises: because it was this, or go their separate ways permanently. Neither of them would survive that separation for very long, and not only because the streets were dangerous, so they compromised.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered, leading him to the pile of blankets that comprised their bed. "Just sleep." He tucked his brother’s back along his front, burying his nose in Dean’s hair. Dean soon fell asleep, lulled by the soft rhythm of Sam’s breath and the warmth of his brother’s arms around him.


	4. Chapter 3: Another Suitor for the Prince

_Heard your prince was just a sight, lovely to see_   
_And that, good people, is why_   
_She got dolled up and dropped by_

"I have never been so insulted." Princess Parvati stormed through the throne room, the door slamming shut behind her. She had come from the direction of the garden, where she was supposed to be spending the morning with Castiel. "Good luck getting someone to marry _him_!" she snarled at Raphael. Raphael frowned, waving his advisor away, as the princess stormed off to collect her retinue. Castiel had scared off another suitor, apparently, and this one had held major promise. She was part of Kali’s household, a younger sister; the marriage could have ended one of Raphael’s longest running conflicts.

"Castiel!" Raphael called, heading in the direction the princess had come from. He moved like a storm cloud, dark silks billowing as he walked, his face thunderous. "Castiel," he bellowed as he stepped into the garden. Castiel was seated on the edge a large the fountain, glumly tracing a finger through his reflection in the water. "What did you do this time?"

"Saved you the trouble of wooing another unsuitable suitor for me, brother," Castiel answered, his voice low and bored. He dried his wet hands on his soft blue harem pants, his upper body bared to the morning sun.

"You cannot just keep rejecting every suitor that comes to call, Castiel. You must marry, and you must marry soon, or…" Raphael trailed off, hands balling into fists at his sides as he tried to contain his rage at Castiel’s persistent noncompliance.

"Or what, Raphael," Castiel said flatly, standing. "Or you might have to end one of your dozen wars to keep yourself in silks? Or you might finally do me the courtesy of dying from the stress of ceaseless warfare?" He stepped closer to his brother, who glowered at him.

Castiel knew his words were dangerous, but his relationship with Raphael had always been tenuous at best. As Raphael’s heir and next in line for the throne, Castiel held a preferred position in the royal household. But Raphael was working hard to break that claim to the throne. If he could successfully marry Castiel into another line of succession, it served his purpose twofold: first, such a marriage could be just the diplomatic move Raphael needed to end one of his wars and gain resources to continue the others. Second, Raphael wanted his own heirs to succeed him, and marrying Castiel into another line of succession broke Castiel’s claim.

As much as Castiel longed to escape the trap of palace life, however, he refused to marry as a pawn in his brother's schemes. Besides, the idea of leaving Agrabah to Michael and Lucifer, who would no doubt rip it to shreds in violent civil war, repelled him. There was a reason Raphael had to ship the two of them off to the remote Far Reach: no one but Raphael and his loyalists wanted those two to ascend the throne. It would mean death.

"You will marry, Castiel," Raphael replied, his voice almost even. Castiel could see the rage simmering in his eyes. "If you continue to reject suitors, I will choose one for you."

"You would not dare," Castiel replied, shocked. Raphael had the theoretical power to do so, of course, but he had never risked pissing Castiel off quite that much. He needed a modicum of compliance, and Castiel had so far provided.

"I will, Castiel. You must marry, or I will." Raphael turned on his heel, silks fluttering as he stormed out of the garden.

Castiel sat back down on the edge of the fountain, staring into the rippling blue eyes of his reflection. All he had ever wanted was to escape this life, to know something other than Raphael’s tyranny. It seemed his time was growing short. He lifted his head to gaze at the high wall surrounding the garden, a rash plan forming in his head. Not everything was decided, not yet. Castiel could still make a choice.

* * *

Crowley entered the throne room just as Raphael returned.

"Good morning, your highness," Crowley said. Raphael’s face was stormy.

"He rejected another one," Raphael grumbled as he took his place on the throne. “Kali would have been a very useful ally. And, he didn’t just reject the princess, he pissed her off for good measure."

"The law does allow you to simply choose a suitor for him," Crowley reminded him. "Perhaps it is time you used that power."

"Yes, but whom should I force him to marry?" Raphael sighed. "If I send him off unwillingly, he’s as likely to start a new war as he is to end one." Castiel was far too much of a wildcard for Raphael’s taste. Unlike everything and everyone else in the sultan's life, Castiel did not bend to his will.

To Crowley, however, forcing Castiel to marry unhappily did not sound like the worst possible outcome for the situation. Power had turned toxic in Raphael’s hands, draining the life (quite literally) of the once-shining Agrabah. It wasn't that Crowley particularly favored Castiel ascending to the throne, but the idea of the kingdom passing to Michael and Lucifer was far worse. Even if Lucy still held a soft place in his heart, he knew she would be a vicious queen, made worse by her brother. He held his tongue.

"Perhaps patience is the best route for now," he suggested. "An option may yet present itself." And in the meantime, Crowley could work on finding his diamond in the rough. A messy but productive morning of scrying had yielded results: it seemed a local street rat might be the one he needed. If it took a thousand street rats, Crowley thought, he would get his lamp. And once he had a real genie he would never have to worry about Raphael and his power-drunken mania again.


	5. Chapter 4: Riff Raff

_If only they’d look closer_   
_Would they see a poor boy? No siree_   
_They’d find out there’s so much more to me._

The early morning was still tinged with the icy air of the previous night when Castiel slipped out of the palace and into the garden. The palace was asleep, for the most part. The guard would be changing over in a minute: the distraction he needed to make his escape.

He climbed the tall tree that grew near the wall, pulling his cloak tightly around himself against the chill. He saw the guards: speaking quietly as they changed the watch, distracted. He grabbed ahold of the edge of the wall and lowered his body over, hanging on by his hands until he was fully stretched out against its surface. He kept his eyes trained on the guards as he dropped to the ground below, the impact hard and jolting. He was uninjured. Quietly, Castiel slipped out into the city he had never seen before.

* * *

The marketplace was surprisingly quiet today. Dean and Sam were supposed to be meeting a supplier, someone who needed certain things moved across the city discretely, but the man had not showed up yet. They wandered separately among the stalls of the market, nicking an apple here or a coin there - anything they could get away with unnoticed.

Dean hated this kind of work, which they only did when the jobs were as thin on the ground as they had been lately, but they had to eat somehow. He kicked at a stone. It skittered across the dusty ground and out of sight, lost in the sea of feet hurrying about their business.

Sam was leaning against the wall of a darkened alley, just out of the sun, eating a piece of fruit. He and Dean made eye contact as Dean wandered past: no sign of their contact. That was probably a bad sign; another day with no work meant another night with no dinner.

Ahead, Dean noticed a man with bright blue eyes walking towards him, a shock of dark hair peeking out from the hood of his rough-spun cloak. The vendors called out, trying to lure him in: he looked like an easy target, inexperience making him easy to separate from his money. He just kept making eye contact with people, as if he didn't know that he was supposed to avoid that. He was a few years older than Dean, at most, but the way he moved between the stalls suggested a level of unfamiliarity Dean had never witnessed before. Where had this guy come from? But the man did not buy anything, nor talk to any of the merchants.

A small child lingered near a fruit seller's stall. Another orphan, Dean didn't doubt, another of Raphael's victims. He was too skinny, eyeing the fruit hungrily. The man paused, bending down to speak softly with the child. The child's eyes widened as the man reached up and took an apple. He handed the apple to the child. The child smiled and ran off with the pilfered fruit.

Unlike Dean, this stranger didn't have a sneaky bone in his body. The proprietor of the fruit stall watched the entire scene unfold, arms crossed over above his ponderous gut; he had been keeping an eye on the boy since he showed up. Everyone was accustomed to skinny thieves in the marketplace. Dean tensed as the strange man stood, his stomach sinking as the man tried to walk away without a backwards glance.

"I hope you were planning to pay for that," the proprietor growled, grabbing the man by the wrist.

"Pay?" the man answered, confusion written across his features, his voice surprisingly deep. He tried to tug his wrist from the proprietor's grasp.

"No one steals from my stall and gets away with it!" the proprietor declared.

"I'm sorry," the man said, "but I don't have any money." He was frowning at the proprietor as if this entire proceeding was a source of deep mystery to him.

"Thief!" the proprietor bellowed, brandishing a knife. He pulled at the man's wrist, trying to pin it down on the counter of his stall.

"Just let me go to the palace," the man said, suddenly desperate. "I can get some money from the sultan. I can pay you then.” The proprietor ignored this outburst; an outrageous lie would not keep him from having justice against a thief.

"Do you know what the penalty is for stealing?" he growled, his face close to the man's. The man flinched away. Dean couldn't just stand there doing nothing. He found himself moving before his brain had formulated a plan.

"There you are!" he shouted, startling the proprietor into lowering his blade. "You found him," he said, addressing the proprietor. "I've been looking everywhere for him, thank you." He grabbed the strange man roughly by the arm.

"What are you doing?" the man hissed.

"Saving your ass," Dean answered. "Play along.”

"You know this man?" the proprietor asked.

"Yes," Dean snarled. "He owes me quite a bit of money. Still not quite catching on to the having to pay for things, I take it." The man hung his head as if ashamed.

"He owes you a debt," the proprietor said, eyes suspicious.

"Yes," Dean answered, "he has been working it off as my servant, slowly, but he ran off last night. Trying to escape your obligations again?" he snarled at the man, who continued to look cowed.

"He said he knew the sultan," the proprietor pointed out.

"He's a liar as well as a thief," Dean shrugged.

"I take it you need him whole, then," the proprietor sighed. He had bought the lie, Dean thought with relief, acceding to Dean's greater, if utterly fictitious, claim on the man.

"Unfortunately," Dean replied, tossing a coin towards the merchant. It was more than the apple was worth, unfortunately, but Dean still had a few others in his pocket. "I'll make sure that he is punished for these actions." The proprietor nodded, reassured. He sheathed his knife and returned to tending his stall. Dean kept his grip on the man's arm, trying not to take too close of notice of the well-formed muscle beneath the billowing tan cloth as he led him away from the bazaar.

Sam caught his eye as they passed: curious and worried. What had Dean been thinking? Dean shook his head minutely. Sam should wait here: if their contact arrived, Sam could handle the basic negotiations while Dean figured out what to do with his new friend. Sam frowned, but inclined his head slightly: good, then, they were in agreement.

Sam watched as his brother disappeared down the street with the handsome stranger in tow. Dean's motives were clearer to Sam than they had been to Dean himself, although neither of them could stand the suffering they were forced to witness day in and day out and Dean could never resist helping if he could, no matter the risk. Sam felt a twinge of jealousy as he thought, however, that the stranger's startling attractiveness probably had something to do with Dean's motivations. Not that Dean was a monk or anything, but he and Sam both generally kept their liaisons to women. Sam sighed as he realized that it wasn't only the strange man he felt jealous of, either.

* * *

"We're almost there," Dean said, a few minutes later. The man hadn't said anything since they left the bazaar, simply following Dean's lead even after Dean let go of his arm. He paused now, though, and Dean stopped walking to turn and look at him.

"Thank you," the man said, his voice rough in a way that called to mind some of Dean's most lust-worn fantasies.

"Forget it," Dean answered, shaking his head. He continued walking and his new friend followed. Dean hadn't been able to stand the idea of bloodshed in the marketplace over an apple. Not that it hadn't happened before. And it was possible that this man was mentally unstable, the way he had seemed so unfamiliar with basic customs, or just from way the fuck out of town, but regardless Dean was intrigued. "So that was your first time in the marketplace, huh?" he asked. The man nodded.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"Well, you do kind of stand out," Dean answered, grinning at him. He meant it as a subtle flirtation, testing the waters, and the look in those blue eyes told him he might be on the right track. "I mean, you don't seem to know how dangerous Agrabah can be." He shrugged, pushing back the covering over the entrance to his and Sam's home. "C'mon, this way." The man followed him, ducking the beams easily as they ascended.

"Is this where you live?" he asked, curious eyes taking in the run-down comforts of Dean's home.

"Yeah," Dean answered, "me and my brother." The man seemed fascinated, holding Dean's gaze as he spoke. "I mean, it isn't much, but it has a great view." He pulled back the curtain to reveal their view of the palace, shining brightly under the sun. "Looks pretty amazing, doesn't it?"

"Amazing," he answered, and there was something in his tone that made Dean wonder just what he knew about the palace that made him hate it so much.

"Well, it's probably better living there than here anyways," he said, "servants and stuff taking care of you…"

"People telling you where to go and what to do," the man continued.

"Never having to scrape for food or duck the guards," Dean said.

"Never getting to live your own life," he said.

"You feel kind of trapped," Dean finished. The man nodded, turning his eyes away from the palace to meet Dean's again. There was heat in that gaze, now that they seemed to be understanding each other.

The man moved like couldn't quite help himself: as if he, like Dean, hadn't felt drawn like this, this quickly, to anyone, ever before. He stepped closer to Dean, undeniably in his personal space now.

"So where did you come from, stranger?" Dean asked, the joking lilt in his voice failing to dissipate the tension that was building between them.

"Does it matter?" the man asked. "I ran away, and I am not going back."

"Really," Dean answered. The man looked cleaner and better fed than most people Dean knew. He wondered what could be so terrible about a place like that.

"My older brother," he explained, "is trying to force me to marry." And this guy didn't like any of the suitors, Dean reasoned, although perhaps not for the reasons his brother thought. Being anything other than purely heterosexual wasn't exactly safe on the streets: it was seen as weakness. Although Dean had heard that more well-to-do families didn't care so long as heirs weren't on the line. Hell, Agrabah's prince had suitors both male and female, and no one batted an eye. Granted, when you claimed to be descended from genies and beheaded your opposition, people tended to let things slide.

"That's unfair," Dean replied. "None of the suitors are, what, your taste?" He grinned wickedly, his heart beating faster as the man smiled back.

"Not exactly," he replied, stepping closer to Dean. Dean realized he didn't know this man's name, then decided he could ask after they got to the kissing part. He placed a gentle hand on the man's face, cupping his jaw. A banging sound from the floors below, however, suddenly grabbed both of their attention.

"Find him!" bellowed a voice Dean knew all too well, as Alistair and his guards began to storm up the stairs.

"They're after me!" Dean and the man gasped at the same moment, preparing to flee before they realized what the other had said. "They're after you?" The guards were advancing on them, barely slowed by the debris that clogged the abandoned structure.

"Arrest him!" Alistair snarled, pointing at the pair. Confused, his guards grabbed both of them.

"Unhand me!" the man shouted.

"Let go!" Dean bellowed, struggling. Alistair approached, leering at him as he used the point of his sword on Dean's chin to force his head to tip backwards.

"It's the dungeon for you, boy," Alistair snarled. Dean's stomach clenched at his tone.

"Unhand him," the man said, "by order of your Prince." He shook off his cloak, horrified recognition dawning on the faces of the guards holding him. The guards gasped, releasing him and kneeling.

"Prince Castiel," rasped Alistair, recognizing the heir to the throne. "What are you doing outside the palace walls?"

"Prince?" Dean gasped, eyes fixed on Castiel's apologetic gaze.

"That is not your concern. Release him," Castiel repeated.

"I'm sorry, your highness," Alistair said, standing to address Castiel. "But I have specific orders from High Vizier Crowley to bring him in. You will have to take it up with him." Castiel glowered at the glee in Alistair's eyes. The guards began to drag Dean out of the room. One of them grunted as Dean managed to slam an elbow into his gut.

"I will," Castiel answered. Alistair bowed and left, leaving Castiel alone in the room. He realized with a sickening shock that he didn't even know the man's name.


	6. Chapter 5: Scoundrel

_So his prospects take a terminal dip_   
_His assets frozen, the venue chosen_   
_Is the ends of the earth - whoopee!_

"Crowley!" Castiel barked, making his way down the corridor towards the High Vizier's quarters.

"Ah, your highness," Crowley greeted him as Castiel entered. "How may I be of service to you?"

"The guards, they took a man from the marketplace. A boy, really." Castiel squinted his eyes slightly, tilting his head at Crowley. "They claimed to be acting on your orders."

"Well," Crowley said, drying his hands with a towel. He had heard a report that this visit might be coming. "Your brother has charged me with keeping the peace in Agrabah. The boy was a notorious criminal."

"What was his crime?" Castiel demanded.

"Theft, fraud, assault," Crowley said with a shrug. "And, of course, kidnapping the Prince."

"He didn't kidnap me, Crowley," Castiel growled. "I ran away." And he felt more foolish about it by the minute.

"That's too bad," said Crowley. "In any case, his sentence has already been carried out." Crowley tried to look apologetic: although he was lying to the prince, he expected his words to be true enough in short order.

Castiel squinted at him harder. It had barely been an hour ago that he had been with the man, about to...he shook his head to clear the distraction.

"What sentence is that?" he grit out.

"Death," Crowley said. "By beheading." Castiel moved quickly, wrapping a hand around Crowley's throat and pressing him to the wall.

"No," he snarled.

"My, you've taken quite an interest," Crowley sneered. Castiel squeezed his hand tighter around Crowley's throat. "Apologies. My condolences on your loss," Crowley coughed.

"How could you," Castiel said, suddenly releasing Crowley and storming from the room. Crowley swallowed, grimaced, and straightened his collar.

"Well, that went rather more smoothly than expected."

* * *

The air in the garden was growing cold as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the towering bulk of the palace, but Castiel could not seem to stir himself. He sat at the fountain, bare feet dipped into the sun-warmed water.

Raphael had been angry, of course, that Castiel had gone out wandering in the city. Although it would solve some of his problems if Castiel was killed, actually, and there were days Castiel wondered why he hadn’t tried. But alive he was a valuable bargaining asset for his brother. And so his imprisonment in a gilded cage continued.

Looking up, he saw the tree he had climbed earlier in the day. He climbed a tree, had his adventure, and cost a man his life. Castiel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and scrubbing his hands over his face. He felt terrible, nearly despondent, at the responsibility he bore for the man’s demise.

“I didn’t even know his name,” he whispered to the darkness.

* * *

Dean tugged at his manacles, rattling the chain that bound him to the dungeon wall. His head was woozy, still: the guards had been rough with him, excited to have finally captured their elusive quarry. He had managed a few blows of his own. He ached, but nothing seemed broken.

He swallowed, feeling the tacky dryness itching in his throat as he wished for water. So far the dungeons had been disturbingly quiet. He was hoping the plan wasn't just to let him rot down here: as ways to die went, that was definitely low on his list.

He dug into the waistband of his pants awkwardly, extracting a thin metal pin. Carefully, he tried to pick the lock of his manacles. After a few headache-inducing minutes the rusty latch finally popped free. He slid the metal off his wrists, flexing and rolling them. He picked the lock on the binding around his ankles next, relieved to be free. He was still trapped, however, in the dungeon: chains or no, Raphael's prison was notoriously difficult to escape from. Once you went in, you didn't come out.

He sat with his back against the cold stone wall, thinking. When he heard a guard approaching, he slipped his manacles back on.

* * *

Sam's stomach twisted, his heart still pounding sickeningly. He sat at home, the room feeling strangely empty, trying to make some sense out of his panicked thoughts.

Dean had been taken by the guards. Hauled off to the palace dungeons. Sam knew what happened to people taken away like that: he and Dean had seen it before. They didn't come back; or if they did, they were only a shell of what they had been.  
He had to find a way to get his brother out. It was his only option. But how?


	7. Chapter 6: The Cave of Wonders

_One trip ahead of disaster, they're quick but I'm much faster,_   
_Here goes, better throw my hand in, wish me happy landin'_   
_All I gotta do is jump!_

The guard's footsteps echoed as he walked away, around a turn and another turn and the sound of his sandals on the flagstones pounded in Dean's ears. It had been days, now, that he had been down here. They brought him a little water and food every now and then, but not on any schedule he could figure out. Not anything he could tell time by, at least. The guards would never speak to him, and he just got a foot to the ribs for trying.

He had tried to escape, once, but it failed spectacularly. Now, dehydrated and hungry and bruised, he wondered absently what they wanted from him.

A scuffling noise caught his attention. It wasn't another rat, the sound too large.

"Psst," a voice hissed, the speaker hidden in shadow. Dean glared at it. His head hurt: he had no desire to make small talk with another prisoner. A hunched figure shuffled into view.

"Hello, boy," the man said as he stood, no longer forced to stoop by the low tunnel he had entered by. His foreign accent turned the words syrupy. The man was old, clad in clothing that seemed to be rotting away on his frame. A scraggly beard jutted from his chin, moving oddly as he spoke.

"Go away," Dean rasped. Whatever this sleaze-bag was selling, Dean wasn't buying.

"I will," the man answered, "I will, but hear me out first." Dean sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to force the old man away with the power of his loathing. He wasn't entirely certain he had the physical strength to kick his ass right now, but it might be worth trying anyways. "I have a job for you." Dean raised an eyebrow, listening. "I need someone to retrieve something for me, and I think you might be the man for the job."

"What makes you say that, exactly?" Dean held up his wrists, showing the manacles binding them. They weren't locked, but this guy had no way of knowing that.

"I need some one fleet of foot and," the man paused, as if rolling the words around in his mind before he spoke them aloud, "rather lighter of finger. Which, I believe, is why you are here, is it not?"

"How would you know?" Dean asked. The creepy old man had done his homework.

"Does it matter?" the man answered. "I can get you out."

Dean was definitely listening now.

"Okay, so, what, you get me out and I steal something for you? That's it?"

"Oh no, that's not nearly all of it, boy. I'll make it worth your while." The man tossed an apple to Dean, who barely paused to examine it for suspicious marks before his hunger got the better of him. "There's payment in it for you. Treasure, to be exact."

Dean frowned. "How much treasure, exactly?" he asked around a mouthful of fruit. He was already imagining never going hungry again, Sam never going hungry again, having a home and a life that wasn't just constantly hoping their luck held out for another day.

"Enough," the man answered. Dean looked doubtful. "You’ve heard of the golden rule, haven’t you? Who ever has the gold makes the rules? Well, you'll be able to make whatever rules you want." The treasure was obviously too good an offer to be true, but Dean was ready to take this man up on his bargain if only because he would have to bust Dean out in order to get what he wanted.

"Alright," Dean said, "what is it that you need me to steal?"

* * *

There was a moment, before a giant tiger's head reared out of the sand and stretched towards the night sky and started bitching about its beauty sleep, that Dean thought the old man might just be a few hooves short of a horse. But then the tiger, with the glowing eyes and the earth-rattling voice. And now Dean was walking down its throat, because his life fucking sucked, walking down the throat of an enormous sand tiger and wondering what happened if the thing sneezed.

The stairs descended into a room that glowed with a warm golden light. Treasure sparkled at him from every side: rubies the size of his fist and more gold coins than Sultan Raphael's wettest dream and more than enough to set him and Sam and the old man and most of the city up for life.

The old man had demanded he retrieve a lamp, first, however. He said that Dean couldn't touch the treasure until after the lamp had been retrieved: apparently, that was how the cave worked. Tempted you with mind-blowing wealth to keep the stupid and the weak from getting their hands on some antique.

Dean was neither stupid nor weak, however, and he had his suspicions about the lamp. He had heard the stories of the genies; no one who grew up in a kingdom ruled by a family that claimed to be descended from genies could avoid it. He assumed this nutty old man thought there was an actual genie's lamp in the cave, and that was what had him in such a twist. He could have the lamp, Dean thought: Dean would be more than happy with the treasure. What would he do with some dusty old lamp, anyways?

A second room of treasure gave way to a third, and Dean wondered if he'd find the tiger's ass before he found any lamp. The man had been very specific about not touching the treasure, or Dean would have assumed it was buried in one of the giant piles. But finally he stepped into a room that shone with a cool blue light. A path of stones lead out into a lake where more stairs lead up to a platform. Up there, bathed in soft white light, Dean could see a hint of dull gold. It was about the right size for an lamp, he thought, as he hopped from one stone to the next, making his way across the water.

His thighs burned as he climbed the endless stairs. When he finally got back to Sammy, he was going to have an ass worth writing songs about from all these damn stairs. Finally, he reached the top. A simple oil lamp sat on the stone, dusty and scratched and utterly ordinary. Dean could have found a dozen like it in the bazaars of Agrabah, probably discounted because no one wanted one so old.

"This is it?" he said aloud. Cautiously, he lifted the lamp, regarding it more closely. An ordinary, boring lamp. It wasn't even heavy enough to have anything inside. He made his way back down the stairs, ready to take the lamp back to the old man and collect his reward.

Dean played a game with himself as he walked through the treasure rooms, to distract himself from the idea that this treasure was real, that it could be his if he just reached out and took it. He would mentally pick out a precious stone gleaming at him from one of the piles, and then continually look for a larger one and a larger one, marking their locations in his mind.

He was still counting his newfound wealth when he reached the top of the stairs once again, lamp in hand. The old man's eyes gleamed with delight at the sight of it. Dean held it out to the man, planning to leave it with him before he returned for a few pocketfuls of treasure. But the old man grabbed his wrist rather than the lamp, grinning as he drew a wickedly curved blade.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.

"You didn't really think I'd let you live, did you?" the man snarled. Dean wrenched his wrist, forcing the man off balance. He deflected the oncoming knife with his free arm, swatting the blade out of the man's grasp. The man's balance failed and he stepped over the tiger's lip and onto the first step. Suddenly, the ground began to shake, the tiger's voice vibrating Dean's bones as it roared. He and the man struggled for a moment more before the stairs crumbled under Dean and then he was falling, falling, sliding down into the sand.

* * *

Crowley howled indignantly to the night sky above him as he fell to his knees in the sand, whispering a few words to dissolve the glamor that had hidden him from the street rat. The boy was gone, and with him the lamp.


	8. Chapter 7: Friend Like Me

_Have some of column A, try all of column B_   
_I'm in the mood to help you dude_   
_You ain't never had a friend like me!_

Dean was warm, comfortable and sleepy. His head felt thick as he woke slowly; he seemed to recall a pleasant dream but it refused to come into focus in his memory. Something was off: this wasn't his bed. There was no human furnace draped over him and he ached like that time a stolen horse had thrown him. He groaned as he peeled open his sticky eyes, a dull ache crescendoing painfully in his head.

He lay in a pile of sand, partially covered where it had drifted over him. The sand had cascaded across a large cavern; Dean groaned again as his memory filled the space with gold and gems. There was no trace of them now. High above him, a thin beam of sunlight shone feebly into the darkness.

Gingerly, he sat up, taking stock of his injuries. He had hit his head, that much was obvious, but the room didn't seem to be spinning. Much. Well, he didn't feel like puking at least and that was something. The rest of him, he discovered as he poked and prodded, might be a little bruised but nothing was broken. He was damn lucky, considering. Maybe even luckier than he thought, he realized, as he noticed a gleam of gold in the sand to his left. He dug the dusty grains away to reveal the lamp.

Dean sighed as he lifted the lamp, trying to get a better look at it in the dim light. He stood, wincing slightly, and walked towards the center of the cavern where it was brighter. The lamp could use polishing, that was for sure, but it seemed to bear some sort of inscription. Frowning slightly, he rubbed his thumb across the metal. The inscription became brighter, began to glow, and suddenly the lamp started vibrating. Startled, Dean dropped it to the ground and backed away, watching as it glowed brighter and smoke billowed out of its nozzle. The cloud of smoke grew, filling the air above him. Dean's heart pounded in time with the throbbing in his head.

A voice whooped loudly as the smoke began to condense. It assumed the shape of a man, shorter than Dean by several inches, standing in profile to him. The man's knees were bent and his hands flung out, as if bracing himself. Cautiously, he cracked open one eye, quickly glanced around, then opened the other before turning in a circle.

"Wow, does it ever feel good to be out of there!" he exclaimed. He turned away from Dean, spinning to look at the cavern, and startled when he noticed Dean staring at him in shock. "Well hey there," the man grinned. "Master," he added, with a teasing waggle of his eyebrows.

"Master?" Dean repeated softly, wondering exactly how hard he had hit his head. Because it looked like a genie had just emerged from that dusty old lamp, and Dean didn't believe in genies. He patted at his pants, searching for his knife before he remembered that the guards had confiscated it when they arrested him.

"You did rub the lamp, didn't you?" the man asked, circling Dean as he sized him up. His golden eyes danced playfully as he spoke, a match to the wide gold cuffs around his wrists. He was dressed similarly to Dean, although his clothing lacked the worn look and patching that Dean's sported. Dean supposed that he had rubbed the lamp, although a single swipe of his thumb didn't even seem like it should cross into playing-with-it territory. "What's your name, gorgeous?" the genie grinned, coming to a stop in front of Dean and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Uh, Dean," Dean responded dumbly. "Genies aren't real," he said, blaming his brain's inability to catch up with proceedings on the throbbing in his skull. The man pouted slightly.

"This doesn't look real to you, Dean-o?" he asked, turning to the side. "Is it because I've gotten fat? Have I put on weight?" He stuck out his stomach and frowned. Dean shook his head: the man—no, genie—was certainly fit enough. His head was spinning too hard to deal with this. Genies were real? "Ah, well, ten thousand years and no room to do pushups!" the genie said, scooping up his lamp and twirling it around a finger.

"So you're a genie," Dean said.

"Bingo, champ." The genie pointed at him. "Name's Gabriel, at your service." He bowed with a flourish.

"And I'm your master." Gabriel held out his hand, and a small poof produced a mortarboard, which he slapped onto Dean's head.

"That's right! He can be taught!" Gabriel exclaimed. Dean pulled the weird hat off his head, frowning at it. Gabriel snapped his fingers with a grin and it disappeared.

"So what, I get wishes or something now?"

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner," Gabriel answered. "Three wishes, to be exact. Anything you want, handsome."

"Anything," Dean answered, considering.

"What would you wish of me?" Gabriel asked, grinning widely, "The ever impressive, the long contained," he twirled his lamp around a finger again, "often imitated but never duplicated," as a second Gabriel popped out from behind his shoulder and asked,

"Duplicated?"

"Duplicated!" Gabriel replied, "Genie of the Lamp!"

"Right," Dean said, "sure, you're an all powerful genie and I'm gonna get everything I ever wanted." He scrubbed a hand over his face as his stomach grumbled. "All I want right now is a hot meal and a way out of this place." A popping noise sounded, and he looked up.

Gabriel waved an arm, presenting a long table so laden with dishes that it bowed in the middle. Dean had never seen a spread like it before in his life: steaming platters of meat, sweets and fruits and bread. His mouth watered as the smell hit him and his stomach rumbled hollowly.

Gabriel picked up a small sweet pastry and bit into it. Around a mouthful he insisted, "It's all perfectly safe. Promise." Dean picked out a leg of chicken, the skin beautifully golden and crisp as he bit into it, and moaned as the flavor exploded in his mouth.

Gabriel grinned, then with another shimmer and pop two beautiful women appeared along with a few lounge couches. Gabriel stretched out one the one nearest him as the women began to feed him from the table. Dean laughed around a mouthful of bread, forcing himself to swallow so he didn't choke as he sat down on another couch.

"You want some?" Gabriel asked, waving a hand towards his companions. One had straddled his lap, feeding him grapes one at a time. He grinned at her. "They're very helpful." The other woman scooped a finger through a pudding of some kind, offering it to Gabriel who sucked it clean. Dean watched, maybe a little too closely. "Or if they're not your taste..." he trailed off, trying to read the answer in Dean's face. Dean just shook his head.

"No thanks, man," he said, spying a bottle which a sniff confirmed was liquor, the good stuff. He poured himself a glass. "I've got all the vice I need right here. I prefer my women a little less, uh, fake." He tossed back the drink, the burn smooth down his throat. He liked women, people really, who he could interact with. Especially in bed. Someone who was more than just a warm body: even if it was only for one night, it was always about some kind of connection in the intimacy.

"Hmm," Gabriel replied, assessing the women, "I suppose so." He sighed as the women vanished. Dean smiled amusedly as he focused his attention fully on the food.

By the time he stopped eating, he felt ready to burst. He couldn't remember ever being this full in his life, rubbing his stomach as he stretched out on his couch. Gabriel grinned at him.

"Alright, so you're a mean cook," Dean granted. "But really? Anything I want, I just wish for it?"

"That's right, buddy," Gabriel agreed. "Uh, although there are a few rules." He shrugged, apologetic.

"Such as?" Dean prompted, sitting up and deciding he could fit one more of those candies in before his stomach actually burst. He and Gabriel had been washing down their meal with the liquor, and his head was starting to get warmly fuzzy around the edges. Gabriel was actually seeming okay, if a little self-indulgent.

"Well, you've seen the blow-up doll trick. But I can't make anyone fall in love with you. It just doesn't work." Gabriel ticked off the rules on his fingers. "Uh, two? I can't bring anyone back from the dead. It's very messy. Don't ask. And three," he continued, his tone turning warning at the calculating look in Dean's eye, "no wishing for more wishes. You get three. That's it." Dean frowned a little: it had seemed like a good plan to him.

"Alright, three wishes," he agreed. "But look, man, zapping in dinner and, uh, entertainment?" Gabriel's eyes sparkled, "is one thing. I'm just not buying that you could handle the big stuff."

"You've got something big for me?" Gabriel asked, grinning. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Seriously."

"Seriously, Dean-o, I can do it." Gabriel folded his arms across his chest as the table disappeared. Dean stood, only slightly unsteady, and the couches disappeared too. "Try me."

"Well, I mean," Dean waffled, "we're kinda stuck in this cave. It wouldn't suck to, you know, not be here, but that seems like tricky stuff."

"Please!" Gabriel sighed. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were standing on an island. It was surrounded by water, like an oasis in reverse. Dean was a little dizzy, his stomach forcing him to reconsider his meal. "Child's play." Dean shrugged, granting the point to Gabriel.

"Okay, Gabe, you've sold me," he agreed. "So, three wishes, whatever I want?"

"Hey, no way buddy, you're down by two!" Gabriel exclaimed. "What, you think dinner and a plane ride are freebies?"

Dean wondered where the hell Gabriel was getting some of his references: sometimes only half of what he said made any sense at all. "No," Dean replied, "I didn't actually wish for those things. You just kind of did them." Gabriel stared at him for a minute, frowning.

"Huh," he heaved, a perplexed sigh. "You've got a point. Guess I'm getting a little rusty." He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms in front of him. "Been out of the game too long."

"So three wishes," Dean repeated, trying not to sound too smug.

"Fine," Gabriel huffed, poofing a plush chair into existence and flopping down into it, "three wishes."

"Hmm." Dean considered for a minute. What did he want, more than anything? Better than that: what could he get from the genie that would help him get it? "Well, you've gotta have a greatest hits list or something," he said. "What do people usually wish for?"

"Boring shit," Gabriel said, twirling a large blue feather around and brushing it over his fingertips. "Money, sex, power. It's all kind of the same after a few centuries." Dean couldn't say he was surprised: every day, he saw people battling for those same prizes.

"Then what would you wish for?" he asked. Gabriel sighed deeply.

"Freedom," he answered.

"Freedom?"

"Yes, fucking freedom! Do you have any idea what this life is like? Every time some new idiot gets ahold of my lamp, no offense, it's," he poofed three feet to his left, "what do you want," poof, "what do you want," he poofed right in front of Dean's face, "what do you want? It's exhausting." He flopped back down in his chair. "Phenomenal cosmic power," his voice boomed, "itty bitty living space." He tossed the lamp to Dean who caught it, slipping it into his pocket. If he remembered his mythology correctly, lose the lamp, lose the genie. "I would wish to be free."

"Why can't you be?" Dean asked. Gabriel turned his head, giving Dean a wilting look.

"Someone has to do it for me. My power belongs to my master. Someone has to rub my lamp and then use one of their wishes to free me."

"I'll do it," Dean offered, shrugging. Gabriel shouldn't have to live his life like this if he didn't want to.

"Sure," Gabriel replied, "because you're the first guy who's ever said that to me." He batted his eyelashes coquettishly, then sighed.

"No," Dean insisted, "I will."

"Well then," Gabriel said, sitting up, "we'd better get cracking on those first two wishes, hadn't we." Dean had an idea, suddenly, of what he wanted to do with his first wish. In his wildest dreams he never thought he would get the chance, but now he had a genie.

"I want to bring down the royal family of Agrabah," he said, a dark smile curving his lips.

"You certainly aim high," Gabriel retorted. "Sounds nice and all, but pro tip on the wishing business? You're gonna want to be specific. You need a plan, dude, or your wish could go a little haywire."

"Like what."

"Like, how exactly are you going to bring them down? Wishing to rain destruction on them might work, but you don't seem like the shock and awe kind of guy. I'm guessing you're after something a little more subtle."

"I want Sultan Raphael out of power."

"And who _in_ power? Do you know what a power vacuum does to a country?" Dean thought for a moment, Castiel's face suddenly pressing urgently at his mind's eye. Castiel, who had seemed more than a little reasonable, who had seemed to share Dean's loathing of Raphael. Castiel, who was currently looking for a suitor. Dean supposed being married to the guy might not totally suck, even if he was rushing things a bit. Gabriel was looking at him expectantly.

"Uh, the uh, Prince Castiel is looking for a suitor," Dean said. "I kind of ran into him once. He's not that bad, I guess." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck.

"So the girls were barking up the wrong tree," Gabriel smiled knowingly.

"No!" Dean replied. "Uh, it's just," he sighed. He did not talk about this, for fuck's sake. "It's not that important, I guess?" he said, meaning that gender wasn't that important when someone was beautiful and kind, and hoping that Gabriel caught his drift.

"My kind of man!" Gabriel nodded. "Glad we cleared that up. So, what, you want to marry the prince?"

"I'm not sure that would help," Dean answered. Gabriel popped a book into existence, thumbing through its pages.

"Actually," he answered, "it might." The book vanished as he snapped it shut. "Raphael is probably trying to marry Castiel into another line of succession so that his own heirs will take the throne, right?" Dean was a little astonished that Gabriel had picked up on that from such limited information; he wondered what exactly was in that book. "Please, this isn't my first rodeo. Here's the catch, Dean-o, and here's where you come in. If Castiel marries someone who won't be inheriting their own throne, then the line of succession is unbroken and he takes the throne when Raphael dies. Which is basically useless for Castiel's purposes, considering Raphael gets final approval over who he marries. But if we trick him, make Raphael think they've finally found their suitor, Castiel marries you but oops, no throne! Bam, a second wish gets rid of Raphael _and_ you get your man."

"That plan sounds like it carries a high risk of my head coming unstuck from my neck." Dean had liked Castiel: it didn't mean he trusted him. What proof did he have, really, that he was any different from the rest of the royal family?

"You haven't seen my handiwork," Gabriel smirked. "You'll have the most flawless pedigree that has ever existed. No one will doubt you until it's way too late. And even then, hell, keep up the charade if you end up liking it that way." He shrugged. Dean considered. Sam, of course, could be brought in as an advisor or…or something. If he was remembering correctly, princes needed minimum of two advisors to help them decide how to wipe their asses. They could work out the details later. And if he never presented Sam as his brother...that was something else worth considering. Dalliances were practically expected from royals, right?

"Okay," he said. "Let's do it."

"Say the magic words!" Gabriel replied.

"Genie, for my first wish, I wish for you to make me a Prince."

"One certified royal, coming right up!" Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a puff of smoke bloomed around Dean.


	9. Chapter 8: Prince Dean

_Make way! Here he comes!_   
_Ring bells! Bang the drums!_   
_Are you gonna love this guy!_

"Are you sure about all of this shit?" Dean hissed to Gabriel. He was riding point on a frighteningly beautiful horse, Gabriel just behind at his left elbow. More of Gabriel's creations filled in their ranks, carrying gifts for the Sultan and Prince or playing music, or generally looking imposing. Dean shifted the heavy shirt Gabriel had dressed him in. The silk was ridiculously soft against his skin. It reminded him of the silks from a job he had worked with Sam, which had been so soft he had been tempted to keep some for them to drape their bed with. But their employer that time had been like an especially vicious variety of hawk, leaving him no opportunity.

The shirt felt too hot, though, in the sun, and it made him miss Sam more. He wondered if his brother would come watch the new suitor parading towards the palace, if Sam would recognize him. If Sam was still alive, after a week on his own. Dean worried.

"Relax," hissed Gabriel. "Wave to your future subjects."

Dean waved a little, trying to keep the frown off of his face as he began to recognize a few of the merchants on the street, but genuine smiles came easily for the children whose eyes were aglow at his party's extravagant finery. He had convinced Gabriel to dedicate an entire contingent of over-muscled manservants to passing out sweets to the children: squeals of delight rang out from the crowd as they passed.

The logistics of his pedigree had been a little tricker than Dean had expected. Dean couldn't pose as a suitor from a kingdom Raphael was at war with: a simple fact-check would get him beheaded. So he was pretending to be from far away, a kingdom Raphael had never had contact with (because it didn't actually exist outside of Gabriel's frighteningly creative imagination). He couldn't offer a diplomatic alliance that would end any of Raphael's conflicts though, which meant he had to appeal hard to the other half of the suitor equation. He had to offer Raphael wealth: resources to fight his wars.

Gabriel and Dean had agreed that they should make the customary parade towards the palace. Ostensibly, as suitor, it gave him a chance to see the city of Agrabah for the first time. More practically, it let Raphael get a good look at him before opening the palace gates.

And so it came to pass that Dean Winchester found himself parading down the streets of his hometown with ostentatious finery for a disguise, jingling as his horse walked.

They turned down the main avenue and Dean could see Raphael waiting on the balcony above the gates with the royal greeting party. Gabriel drew closer to Dean, crying out,

"Make way for Dean, Prince of Winchester!" Lowering his voice, he spoke quietly to Dean. "So I get that tall dark and dangerous is Sultan Raphael. And blue eyes has to be your prince." Dean had been avoiding looking at the royal party thus far, but at Gabriel's words his eyes snapped up, locking with Prince Castiel's.

Despite the distance, it didn't feel any different from the last time they had met: as if someone had suddenly sucked all of the air from his lungs. He nodded.

"Oooh," Gabriel said excitedly, "who's shaggy, behind the Prince?" Dean frowned: it was probably a servant: the balcony seemed to be crammed with them. But he tore his eyes from Castiel's and scanned the crowd.

His stomach bottomed out as he realized who Gabriel was talking about. Sam. Sam was standing on the balcony behind Castiel.

"That's my brother," he managed to whisper.

* * *

Castiel sighed as he watched the new suitor parading up the street towards the palace. He was exhausted from the song and dance of one suitor after another. Not to mention that this suitor seemed to lack basic manners: a messenger had been sent to the palace only an hour in advance of his arrival. The place had been thrown into chaos attempting to prepare for their party on such short notice.

Castiel's retinue, however, had been excused from those duties. Raphael had insisted they join him on the balcony: the new suitor was from a very distant land, and a seriously unknown factor. They needed to be impressive from the start. Castiel glanced at Raphael: he could see the greed shining in the Sultan's eyes at the new suitor's obvious wealth. He had a feeling Raphael wasn't going to let this one go, particularly given the fact that he was male.

Many royal households did not recognize same-sex parings as marriages for the purposes of succession and inheritance because they could not produce heirs. But a few, generally those that were older and larger, did recognize such unions for younger sons and daughters. Raphael knew Castiel's preferences: he had made no secret of them, despite knowing he would likely be forced to marry a woman. But to have him marry a man: this suited Raphael's purposes even better. The pairing could produce no heirs to challenge Raphael's, effectively permanently removing Castiel from Agrabah's line. His stomach twisted at the victory already glowing in Raphael's eyes. He turned his focus back to the parade below, as someone in the prince's party announced him to the crowd.

His breath stuttered as he met the green eyes of his suitor. Suddenly, he was standing in an abandoned building, the palace a distant backdrop to the eyes of the man who was stepping closer to him. He felt warm as a thrill sang through him at the idea of continuing that encounter.

But it couldn't be him, Castiel thought, as a wave of pain swept through his chest, because that man was dead. This new prince only reminded Castiel of what would never be. He was similar enough to pique Castiel's interest, but he was not the same man. Grief was playing tricks on his mind. The Prince tore his eyes from Castiel's, blanching slightly as he took in the party standing behind Castiel. Castiel wondered if Prince Dean was just as much a pawn in these games as he was.

* * *

The cool quiet of the throne room was a welcome respite after the dusty heat of the streets. Dean took in the towering white pillars that circled the room, trying hard not to stare as they entered, walking down the long red carpet laid out along the central axis of the white marble floor. Gabriel insisted he act the part of royalty, but it was proving trickier than Dean had expected. Especially now that Sam was here.

Except that Sam was not here, Dean realized, as the Sultan, Prince Castiel, and the High Vizier stepped into the throne room. They had left the rest of their party to, Dean supposed, their various tasks, making this official greeting a little more personal.

Dean met Castiel's eyes again as Gabriel began his introduction. Dean felt less and less sure that this would work: something in Castiel's eyes told him that Castiel remembered him, recognized him even in these ridiculous clothes. He should really break eye contact, but Castiel's gaze gripped him, held him transfixed even from across the room.

Gabriel presented the official documentation of Dean's status and eligibility to Raphael as a few of their "servants" placed two heavy chests of gifts on the floor and opened them. Finely hewn weapons, salt, gold, jewels: a tiny taste of what Dean ostensibly had to offer to their kingdom.

Still, Castiel held his gaze. Dean tried to smile a little at Castiel: he was supposed to be wooing the guy, after all, but Castiel just squinted at him, tilting his head to the side. It should look stupid. It shouldn't make Dean's heart pound harder. Castiel's eyes broke with his, suddenly, and Dean's ears tuned back into what Gabriel was saying.

"Legendary wrangler of the fearsome bratwurst, choker of chickens, and tamer of ocularly deficient snakes." Dean balked as Gabriel grinned a little, before meeting his eye and clearing his throat. "Uh, Righteous Man and beloved of his people, Prince Dean of Winchester."

Gabriel gestured to him, and now Dean had to speak.

"Your highness," he inclined his head slightly: he was not Raphael's subject, and Gabriel had warned him not to bow, "thank you for welcoming us into your household. I look forward to the opportunity to forge friendship between our lands, distant though we may be." He smiled. Gabriel had made him repeat the line a dozen times, ensuring he got the wording right. Raphael smiled slightly in return, the expression stiff and formal.

"You are most welcome here, Prince Dean of Winchester. I hope you will find our land, and our Prince Castiel, to your liking." Castiel tensed minutely at Raphael's words. "I am certain you are exhausted from your long travels. Our servants will show you to your quarters, so you may rest."

"My thanks, your highness," Dean replied. Dean felt hopeful: so far, Castiel seemed to truly be the man he had met in the marketplace.

So far, so good.

* * *

Castiel watched as his new suitor exited the throne room with his entourage. They would be taken to chambers that faced out onto the large gardens: beautiful rooms, by any standard. But all Castiel could think of was another room with a view.

He wondered again if his grief-addled mind was playing tricks on him. But this Prince Dean was either the man from the marketplace or his twin. Up close, considering not only the startling green hue of his eyes but the rough tone of his voice and the contrast of soft lips and strong jaw, Castiel was convinced. That kind of beauty… it wasn't something he would forget.

He wondered what Dean was playing at. Who was he, really?

"Raphael," Castiel spoke, interrupting Crowley's mutterings in the Sultan's ear, "I wonder if you might arrange a private audience for me with the Prince this evening." Raphael seemed momentarily stunned: Castiel had never shown interest in any of his other suitors, much less requested a private audience.

"Certainly, Castiel," he replied. Castiel could practically see the gold coins floating in Raphael's mind's eye; he was exceedingly pleased with this suitor and even more pleased with Castiel's apparent interest. Crowley was staring at Castiel curiously in a way that made his skin itch. Castiel nodded before turning and exiting the room without excusing himself. He had a lot to think about.


	10. Chapter 9: A Whole New World

_A whole new world, a new fantastic point of view_   
_No one to tell us no, or where to go_   
_Or say we're only dreaming_

Dean stepped into the ornately appointed room, having to once again suppress his urge to gape at the casual luxury that permeated the entire palace. The servant who had led him here bowed as he closed the door behind Dean. Another servant was placing a bowl of fruit next to a jug of wine on a low table near the large windows, whose curtains were billowing softly in the cool evening breeze.

“Hello, Prince Dean,” said Castiel, his gravely voice at Dean’s right shoulder causing Dean to jump slightly. Dean turned to face him, and his heart did that thing where it tried to climb up his throat and choke him. Castiel was every bit as attractive as he had remembered (remembered a little…well, more than a little enthusiastically), and right now he was in Dean’s personal space. Dean swallowed, fighting the urge to grab Castiel and have him against the nearest available surface.

“Your highness,” he replied, forcing his eyes away from Castiel’s mouth and back to his eyes. He was supposed to be wooing the man, not ogling him like a teenager beholding his first set of naked boobs. Castiel smiled.

“I hope this isn’t too forward,” Castiel said, gesturing to the couches set out near the food. He began to walk towards them and Dean followed.

“Uh, not at all,” Dean replied, trying to sound casual. Gabriel had been extremely excited when a servant had brought them notice that Dean and Castiel were to meet privately that evening. Apparently, this was something that was rarely done before the final stages of a courtship, and it showed that either Raphael or Castiel or both were very enthusiastic about Dean as a possible suitor. Dean thought Castiel might just be suspicious that he was the man from the marketplace and trying to confirm his suspicions.

Dean tugged at his tunic: he missed the light, open vest he normally wore, but Gabriel insisted it would be inappropriate for this meeting. Naturally, Castiel was wearing just such a vest. It was extremely distracting. Castiel smiled at him and Dean tried not to trip over his own feet.

“My brother was pleased when I requested this audience. Thrilled, really,” Castiel said, seating himself on one of the couches. Dean took the other, watching Castiel’s hands as he poured wine into two cups. Dean realized that all of the servants had left: they were truly alone. Gabriel had assured him that this would not happen. _Son of a bitch._ “Dean,” Castiel said, and then “can I call you Dean? It seems we're skipping a lot of formalities here anyway…” he trailed off, squinting slightly as he regarded Dean closely.

Dean knew he should insist on the titles, that he needed that barrier of formality to keep himself and Cas separate. That if he was already giving the guy mental nicknames, it was probably already too late. But he couldn’t figure out how to disagree with Cas— _Castiel_ without seeming like his advances were unwelcome. And that was just the trouble: his advances were welcome. Very welcome, too welcome. Mentally, Dean was already pressing Castiel down into his couch and biting his collar bones while Castiel sucked two of his fingers with that mouth. “Formalities aren’t really my style,” he managed, trying not to sound too choked.

Castiel smiled. They had barely been together five minutes and Dean already seemed flustered. Up close, talking to him again, Castiel found himself more convinced than ever that this was the same man from the marketplace. It wouldn’t be the first time Crowley had lied to him. He wondered what Dean could have been doing in the market: the only logical explanation Castiel could come up with was that Dean must have been scouting the city before he was presented as suitor. But he did not ask. Dean had not said anything, had not mentioned Castiel’s equally strange trip to the marketplace. There would be time later, Castiel supposed, if Dean was who Castiel thought he was.

He watched Dean’s fingers as they removed a grape from the bowl and brought it to his lips. He should probably stop staring; his heart was pounding and the cool breeze wasn’t doing enough to quell the warmth that seemed to follow Dean into a room.

“Then you should call me Castiel,” he said, “if you like.” He passed Dean one of the cups of wine, watching as Dean tried not to be too obvious about gulping it down. So they were both a bit nervous. Nervousness was something he could work with, he thought, draining his own cup before refilling both of their cups from the mercifully large pitcher.

“Castiel,” Dean smiled. “Well, Castiel, your home is very beautiful.” Gabriel had insisted Dean compliment Castiel at every opportunity, so he figured he ought to get that one out of the way.

“Home,” Castiel laughed flatly. “It is a rather gilded cage, isn’t it?”

“Cage?” Dean repeated, brow furrowing slightly as he recalled their conversation in Dean's less-gilded abode.

“Oh, I shouldn’t bore you with that,” Castiel smiled darkly. He was hoping Dean would take the bait, show his hand. Castiel had a gut feeling that their interests aligned, but diplomacy dictated they pussyfoot around the issue rather than simply call Raphael an utter bastard. Which he was, of course, but Castiel knew better than to go around saying it out loud. He had more than one good reason to keep the servants out of the room tonight.

“It’s not boring,” Dean insisted. “No, really, Cas, it isn’t.” Dean tensed as he realized he had let the mental nickname slip already, bracing himself for a blast of wine to the face and a dusty ass when he was tossed out the gates. But Castiel just smiled slightly, this smile warmer than the last as heat simmered in his gaze at the easy informality between them. The tension built for a moment, then snapped as Castiel looked away.

“You know about my brother’s wars,” Castiel said. Dean nodded. “I’m a resource to him,” Castiel explained. “And little else. He keeps me here in case I can be useful to him.”

“So he can marry you off,” Dean said. He had been right: Castiel was a pawn in Raphael’s plans, not a participant. “What is it that _you_ want?” he asked, voice quiet. Castiel filled their cups again.

“You know I used to think I wanted freedom? To see the world outside the walls of the palace.” Castiel met Dean’s eyes: the rueful smile was all the confirmation he needed. Dean was the man from the marketplace. Castiel’s heart soared hopefully. “But that isn’t what freedom is. Freedom is making my own choices, not having to turn to Raphael for approval of my every move. Not just choosing who to marry, but whether I marry at all.” Dean’s face fell a little, then became confused as Castiel moved to sit on the same couch as him. Their shoulders brushed as he drank his wine. “I’m speaking theoretically here. Don’t look so hurt.” He quirked a smile at Dean, who returned it.

“You want to choose your own future,” he said. “I understand that. Really.” Without Gabriel, Dean knew his life would have only ever been a daily struggle to survive with no future and no options.

"I want to see the world," Castiel said. "To really experience it, not this filtered, cushioned version of reality."

"Hey, a little cushion never hurts," Dean answered, thinking of the hardness of his own life.

"Would you take me traveling?" Castiel asked, resting his elbows on his knees as he angled his body towards Dean.

"There are a lot of places I've always wanted to see," Dean answered. "I could show you the world." Gabriel could help. "Or maybe we could make the world more to your liking," he suggested. It was borderline treason, but he needed to know how far Castiel was willing to go in his quest for freedom.

"We could create a whole new world," Castiel answered, tipping his head to the side. He smiled. "I like that."

Dean ached, suddenly, to tell Castiel the truth. To let him know what Dean had planned, because he was convinced Castiel would want to help. He wasn’t sure why Castiel hadn’t brought up the marketplace yet: it seemed an unspoken agreement that they both remembered. He took Castiel’s cup from his hands, placing it alongside his own on the table. He turned, slightly, so his knees brushed Castiel’s as he brought a hand up to cup his cheek.

“You’re the first choice I’ve wanted to make,” Castiel said softly, brushing fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean smiled a little at that.

“Should we pick up where we left off?” he asked, remembering the last time they found themselves in this position. He couldn’t quite bring himself to kiss Castiel without admitting that much of the truth, and the relief in Castiel’s eyes told him he had made the right choice. Some of the ache in his chest eased at the idea that Castiel cared enough to want the truth. They moved together, lips colliding in a kiss that made the room spin dizzily.

Between one breath and the next, Dean couldn’t say how much time had passed. He was lost in their kiss, the feeling of Castiel’s lips and hands as he tugged Dean to lay on top of him. They rolled together, mussing their clothes and hair carelessly, gasps and swallowed moans punctuating the soft rustles of fabric. Finally, Dean collected himself enough to pull back, to pull away and look at Castiel. His lips were swollen, wet and pink from their hungry kisses.

“Cas,” he asked, “are we going to get in trouble for this?” He half-laughed the last part, not wanting to stop but needing a reason not to flip Castiel over beneath him and tear at his clothing until he could press skin to skin and sink into his heat. He closed his eyes, warring with his own desires.

“Probably,” Castiel said, pulling him in for another kiss. Dean kissed him back, forcing his body to stay still even as he yearned to rut against Castiel’s matching hardness. “I think I like making my own choices,” he growled.

“Rebel,” Dean teased, moving his weight off of Castiel as they sat up on the couch. Castiel stretched, lithe muscles pulling under skin. Dean glared at him when Castiel grinned. “If you want me, you’re gonna have to make sure you don’t get me executed.”

“Ugh,” Castiel groaned, “you’re so demanding.” He grinned again, and Dean laughed, helpless. The tension was too much: he wanted Castiel, now and in every possible position, his life was quite literally on the line, and it was too much to deal with. The laughter bubbled out of him and Castiel laughed too, dissipating the weight of the future from the air. Dean kissed Castiel again, soft and lingering.

“I should really go,” he murmured against his lips.

“It’s either that or lose the pants,” Castiel agreed, kissing him more deeply.

“Pants and head,” Dean reminded him as he broke the kiss. Castiel sighed, letting his forehead rest against Dean’s as his hands rested lightly on the back of Dean’s neck. “Goodnight, my Prince,” Dean said, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple. He stood, and Castiel stood with him.

“Goodnight,” Castiel said. His eyes lingered on Dean’s back as his suitor exited the room.

* * *

The air slammed out of Dean's lungs as his back collided with the wall. A moment ago, he had been exiting a room that was still warm with sexual tension, his head pleasantly fuzzy and limbs loose as he strode easily down the corridor. A moment ago, he had air in his lungs and no painful arm pressed against his chest. A moment ago, he hadn't had his brother in his face, breath hot and eyes anxious.

"Sammy," he gasped, and Sam let go of him, pulling Dean into a tight hug. He hugged his brother back, one hand fisted in his too-long hair as he inhaled his scent. It was dark in this small hallway, weak light filtering in from the main corridor.

"Dean," Sam breathed against his neck, burying his face against Dean's skin. Sam's mind sang with relief. Since he had seen the new suitor parading into town he had wondered if his heart could be right. If this stranger was his brother. But he hadn't been able to get close enough to actually see him until tonight. Until the other servants made themselves scarce, enjoying an evening freed from duties and Sam spied on the prince. Until he heard his brother's voice, his laugh, felt the ache in his heart and hardness in his pants as he watched things he should look away from. Things he should want to look away from. He shouldn't want to kiss the taste of Castiel from Dean's mouth. He shouldn't be staring at his brother, eyes darting between eyes and lips, fixated on the tongue that darted out to wet those plush lips. But rumor had it his brother was dead and until this morning Sam had been planning vengeance. He was sure he would hate himself for it later but he felt utterly helpless as his mouth crashed together with Dean's and he licked the taste of wine and royalty from his brother's mouth. Dean pulled him in, winding his arms tighter around Sam as he let himself be pressed against the wall.

"Sammy," he murmured, as Sam broke the kiss and gasped for air. Dean was hard, his earlier enthusiasm barely abated before Sam had re-awoken it, his arousal stoked by the length of Sam pressed against him. It didn't help that he knew Sam was just as big as he felt, enough so that Dean had nearly developed a complex after the first time they drunkenly fell into bed together. It had been a year ago, although the memory thrilled through his body as if it had been yesterday. It had only happened one other time, after a witch had dosed them with something, claiming it was her gift to them. Neither of them ever talked about it. They pretended it would never have happened if they were sober. But that was a lie, Dean thought, and they both knew it. Sam held Dean's face between his hands, resting his forehead against Dean's as they breathed shared air.

"I thought..." he started, "they were saying you were dead."

"Almost was," Dean answered, stroking a hand through Sam's hair. "But then," Dean huffed a laugh as his face split with a wide grin, "Sammy, you're never gonna believe it, but I found a genie."

"What," Sam said flatly, his voice hushed.

"How the hell do you think I'm pulling this off?" Dean whispered, keeping his voice low as he plucked at his ridiculous shirt with his thumb and forefinger. Sam just shook his head. "Sammy, we're so set."

"A genie," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "He's called Gabriel. Actually, he's kinda got the hots for you," he teased, pulling Sam tighter against him. "He got all excited when I told him you were my brother. I think he's planning your wedding now. Either that, or our hot gay incestuous threesome." Dean smirked.

"The prince has the hots for you, jerk," Sam replied, shoving at Dean slightly and Dean realized why Sam had ambushed him here.

"Perv, were you watching?" Sam tucked his burning face back into the crook of Dean's neck, letting the roll of his hips tell Dean what he had thought of it. Dean tried to think of all the reasons he shouldn't like that, shouldn't love Sam quite the way he did. He pressed his lips to Sam's hair. "Gabriel's gonna set us up for life, Sammy."

"A genie," Sam said again, meeting his brother's eyes with a soft smile. "You would find a fucking genie." Dean grinned at him as he brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes.

"You really need a haircut," he teased.

"A genie," repeated Castiel, stepping around the corner from the main corridor and into view. Dean's entire body drew taut as Sam stepped away from him. The warm contentment of a moment ago was gone, an icy chill flooding his veins.

"Isn't that how the story goes?" Dean asked, wondering how much Castiel had heard. Wondering if he could spin this.

"You have a genie," Castiel said flatly. _Shit_. He'd heard enough. Castiel regarded Sam coolly. "I could have both of your heads for this, you know." He frowned, squinting as he tilted his head to the side. "What makes you think this is an acceptable way to behave with my servants?"

"What?" Dean sputtered. Shit, Castiel had _seen_ enough too. Reflexively, the habitual words escaping his mouth without bothering to check in with his brain first, he said "No, no! He's my brother. It's not like that." Dean felt the blood drain from his face, his head feeling suddenly lighter as he realized what he had admitted. "I mean, uh…"

"Is he a spy? Is that what you were doing in the market?" Castiel asked, voice low as he stepped closer to Dean. Dean turned to face him, positioning himself between Castiel and his brother.

"No, Cas, it's…" Dean sighed, realizing the only explanation that wouldn't end with his head on a stake was the truth. "It's a long story, okay?" Castiel frowned at him, thunder in his eyes. For a moment, Dean didn't doubt that the blood of Gabriel's kind flowed in Castiel's veins.

"Then start explaining," Castiel said, struggling to keep the pain out of his voice. He ought to insist on titles, a tiny voice in the back of Castiel's head nagged, but there was something here that he was not prepared to let go of. Somehow he felt that if he pushed Dean away now he could lose everything. There had been enough lies. He needed the truth. He needed Dean. It was ridiculous and he knew the man even less than he had thought only minutes ago, but not having Dean would tear him apart. Castiel tried to trust his gut as he waited quietly. Dean took a deep breath.

"I have a genie," he said, holding out a hand at Castiel's expression of exasperated disbelief. "I know, look, man, if someone told me that two days ago I would have laughed them out of town. But it's true. Gabriel, he's called. And he's kind of a dick, actually," Dean said. "But that's not the part that's gonna piss you off, I guess." Castiel quirked an eyebrow curiously. "That part's the part where I used a wish to become a prince." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "The guy you met in the marketplace, Cas, that's....that's who I really am."

"And he's really your brother," Castiel said. Dean's words, fantastic as they sounded, rang true. Dean blushed but raised his chin defiantly as Sam studied his toes.

So Castiel had been right about what he saw between the two of them. He supposed they were expecting outrage or shock, but he couldn't muster any to show them. Although it was rarely done anymore there had been a time when marriage between siblings was commonplace in the royal family. Castiel understood that there was a stigma regarding the matter among the populace, but he had never put much stock in it. He never put much stock in most taboos, really, so long as consenting adults were the only involved parties.

"Yes," Dean replied, refusing to explain Sam and his relationship. "And, since I'm spilling my guts here, I may as well let you know that I've got a plan." Dean could feel Sam step closer to him, the heat of his skin radiating to warm Dean's.

"Involving your genie."

"Naturally."

"And the plan is?"

"Marry you." Dean grinned cheekily. He thought he saw amusement flash momentarily across Castiel's face before the stoic front returned. Hope was not entirely lost, then. "Which would keep you next in line to the throne, instead of breaking your claim." A look of realization crossed Castiel's features. "Uh, get rid of Raphael, so you'd be Sultan. And I guess I would be too, or whatever. End the wars. Make sure Michael and Lucifer never inherit the throne and rip Agrabah to bloody little pieces." Dean shrugged. "Save the kingdom, pretty much." Castiel nodded slightly: it was a plan he could get on board with, truth be told. Castiel had no particular desire to rule, but if it meant setting things to right he could consider it.

"All of this hinges on your genie, though," he said. Castiel's mind was a whirlwind: his hurt at the lies had been somewhat soothed by Dean's forthrightness. He understood why Dean had had to lie. And if he had lied about his background it still seemed he had been genuine in his feelings. Although Castiel wondered how Sam fit into all of this. Sam, the handsome new servant who had been working out so well. Castiel wondered what it was about these Winchester boys that he couldn't quite resist.

Dean nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. He licked them before he spoke. "True," he answered.

"I could have you both killed for treason."

"I think we covered that part," Sam said quietly. "While we're baring our necks, though, you should probably know that there are a lot of folks in the palace who wouldn't mind seeing you take the throne." Dean and Castiel both looked at him, surprised. "I've been talking to people," he explained. "I'm just a lowly servant, no one thinks I'm dangerous." Sam shrugged.

"How about this," Dean said. "We prove we've got a genie, and you don't have us killed." Castiel nodded slightly: he could work with that. "Maybe we talk about a plan after we solve that little wrinkle."

"You have until tomorrow night," Castiel said. "I will arrange for us to meet alone again." Dean and Sam nodded.

"Works for me," Dean replied. Castiel softened slightly, a worried look crossing his features as he glanced between Dean and his brother.

"Be careful," Castiel said, before turning and leaving them behind.

"Shit," Dean hissed, as Sam dropped his forehead to rest against Dean's shoulder with a sigh.

"You really have a genie, right Dean?" Sam asked, his voice nervous.


	11. Chapter 10: A New Fantastic Point of View

_You got some power in your corner now, some heavy ammunition in your camp  
You got some punch, pizzazz, yahoo and how  
See all you gotta do is rub that lamp_

Raphael's voice reached Castiel's ears in the corridor outside the throne room. He couldn't make out the words but he flinched at the tone: Raphael was enraged about something. Castiel nearly turned back, but he had been summoned earlier and had already dawdled long enough. 

Castiel mind kept drifting to the events of the previous night: the kisses he had shared with Dean, the heat between them. He had still felt that heat even as Dean revealed his identity. As much as Dean lying to Castiel burned, he understood why Dean had done it. He knew it should make him want to distance himself from Dean but he felt the exact opposite. And if Dean had what he claimed...Castiel tried not to get his hopes up too high. Reports of genies never panned out. Raphael had wasted huge amounts of resources following up on fruitless searches for as long as Castiel could remember.

"Say that again!" Raphael bellowed as Castiel entered the room. The man before him was on his knees, shaking slightly as Raphael rose from his throne and stepped towards him. 

"The messenger sent to the Far Reach reports that the Reach has been sealed off. Michael and Lucifer are inside." The man's voice wavered as he spoke. "According to our experts, the magic is a combination of genie protection and blood work, such that it could only be broken by one who shares both the blood of a genie and the blood of the heirs." 

Castiel was mildly impressed in spite of himself. Whoever had trapped Michael and Lucifer with this spell had clearly done it as a challenge to Raphael's claims of legitimacy: if the royal family were truly descended from genies, then the spell could be broken. Castiel had never believed those stories, not really, but he couldn't help wondering just how much genie one needed in their blood to break the spell. In any case, Raphael's rage suggested he was sure he didn't have it. 

"Leave," Raphael growled, closing his eyes and balling his hands into fists as the messenger scrambled to his feet and nearly fled the throne room. Crowley was standing on the other side of the throne from Castiel, keeping his distance from Raphael just as carefully as Castiel was. "Everyone leave!" Raphael shouted. "All of you, out!" Castiel turned and headed back in the direction he had just come. It seemed whatever Raphael had wanted from him had just been preempted by this bad news. 

Castiel realized suddenly that this could change Raphael's plans to marry him off. Icy fear gripped his heart at the idea that Raphael might send Dean away before Castiel had a chance to see him again. But no, Raphael would be consumed with his own problem; Castiel would likely be left to his own devices for a little while. 

"I suppose this is good news for you," Crowley drawled, catching up to Castiel in the corridor. "Competing heirs out of the way and all."

"You don't know my brother nearly as well as you think you do, then," Castiel replied. 

"Well, I expect he'll work himself into a tizzy trying to fix this, maybe behead a few people to take the edge off. He'll be looking for a genie, no doubt."

"Isn't he always?"

"If anyone happened to know where one was," Crowley replied, a dangerous lilt to his voice, "I imagine he would be quite...grateful." Castiel frowned, stopped walking. Crowley took another step before stopping and turning to look at him. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Of course not." Castiel was on edge: Crowley seemed to know something he wasn't saying. He didn't like Crowley's tone, the words snaking like fear down his spine. As if he already knew about Dean, and Dean's genie. 

"Well then. I suppose we'd best make ourselves scarce, don't you think? Toodles." Crowley turned and continued down the corridor, leaving a very worried Castiel behind him.

* * *

"I heard the bad news," Dean said as he palmed the door to Castiel's chambers shut behind him. This was the same room they had used the previous night; ghosts of what had happened between them shot a hot bolt through Dean's gut. The same couches were arranged near the open doors where Castiel stood gazing out, overlooking the garden as the curtains blew softly around him. They were both dressed simply this evening, Dean feeling far more comfortable in his open vest than he had in that stuffy shirt. 

Castiel stretched slightly as he turned to face Dean, his hipbones standing out as he tilted his pelvis forward and Dean wanted to lick them. Probably not a productive line of thought, but there it was. 

"Uh, Sam should be here soon," Dean managed, trying to focus on his purpose as he approached Castiel. "He's bringing Gabriel. The, uh, the genie." _Way to sell it_ , he thought. _Sound a little_ less _confident_. 

"You aren't lying to me, are you Dean?" Castiel asked. He watched Dean's face carefully. "Because with Michael and Lucifer locked away, Raphael is getting desperate. If he hears you have a genie, you had better have one or you'll probably be executed." It wasn't a threat: Castiel was simply dead serious and more than a little worried for Dean's safety. Dean nodded. He understood the gravity of the situation. But then Dean smiled a little, unable to repress the buoy of happiness that always seemed to settle in his chest around Castiel. 

"I'm not lying, Cas. We'll be okay." Castiel squinted slightly, tipping his head to the side. "Really. And wait 'til you meet Gabe - he's kind of a character." Speaking of, Dean started wondering where the hell Gabriel and Sam were: they should have been here only a minute or two after him. He jumped a little as Castiel stepped into his personal space, interrupting his train of thoughts. 

"What about us?" Castiel asked. "Will we be okay too?" He hadn't realized how he ached for there to be a them, a Dean and Castiel, until the possibility was yanked from beneath him by Dean's lies. "I'm not glad you lied to me, you know."

"I know, Cas." Dean sighed, closing his eyes even as his head dipped towards Castiel's. They weren't standing close enough for his head to touch Castiel's, not quite, but being around him felt like gravity had shifted, like it was taking too much energy to stop himself from just folding into Castiel's arms. "I'm sorry. It's just that..." Dean smiled sheepishly, in spite of himself, "I never really had any other shot with you, you know? I had to try." Castiel returned the smile. 

"I know." 

"And you know the truth, now." Dean had tried to convince himself the whole thing was just about making a better life for himself and Sam, about justice and retribution and bringing down Raphael, but the truth was that it had always been about Castiel, too. More so now than ever: Dean wasn't sure he could give Castiel up, no matter the consequences. It mattered to Dean that Castiel understood why he did what he did.

"You know I've never believed in genies?" Castiel said softly.

"I didn't either," Dean replied, huffing a laugh. His arms ached to reach out to Castiel, but it wasn't his initiative to take. "Trust me, I was a card-carrying skeptic. Then I met Gabriel. And, well, I guess you'll see soon enough." Dean frowned slightly. "Actually, they should be here by now."

"Is your brother often late?" Castiel asked. And there was another issue they hadn't discussed: because Sam was Dean's brother, and both of them knew that their relationship wasn't exactly brotherly. Castiel didn't care, but Dean seemed to need to know that he didn't mind. That his feelings tended in the opposite direction, really. 

"Sammy? No, he's Mr. Punctuality," Dean replied. Castiel's fingers traced the edge of Dean's vest, the tips just barely brushing his skin and Dean shivered. He hoped Sam showed up soon, or he was going to walk in on Dean and Castiel...and, Dean thought as his dick gave a traitorous twitch, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. He met Castiel's eyes and tried to remember to breathe. 

The moment was interrupted as Dean heard familiar footfalls in the corridor outside. 

"About damn time," he muttered, as a flushed and rumpled Sam stumbled into the room, followed by Gabriel, who was wearing a cheshire grin. 

"Sorry," Sam gasped, running his hands through his hair to try to smooth it down. Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam blushed furiously. 

"Gabriel?" Dean asked, his voice dangerously low. Gabriel shrugged, still wearing that grin. 

"Are you mad, or just mad we started the party without you?" Gabriel asked, eyes raking over Castiel, who stood at Dean's shoulder. Dean realized how close they were standing: inches apart in the large room. Sam's mouth opened like he was going to say something, then closed as he thought better of it. The look in his eyes made Dean long to comfort him, to reassure him that he wasn't mad. Well, wasn't mad at Sam. Gabriel had better play nice.

"Ok, Sammy?" he said. Sam nodded, smiling a little as he relaxed. 

"I'm fine, Dean." He looked at Castiel, seeming unsure of how to act. Last night, the informality had felt comfortable enough, but in this room he had only ever been a servant to Castiel. "Uh, your majesty." Castiel's face twitched in a tiny smile. 

"I'm nobody's majesty," Castiel replied. "I think tonight we're all just co-conspirators." Gabriel had snaked an arm around Sam's waist, dipping a finger under his waistband. 

"Gabe, knock it off," Dean growled. He wondered vaguely how Sam had enough blood to spare for the furious blush that had spread across his chest. Gabriel rolled his eyes as he extricated his hand.

"Just trying to get things rolling, Dean-o," Gabriel replied, grabbing a handful of Sam's ass as he walked past him to flop down on one of the couches. The low table held a bowl of fruit. Gabriel frowned, and the air shimmered and bloomed into something that was covered in puffy bits of white that reminded Dean of clouds. Gabriel grinned as he dragged a finger through the whipped cream, loosing a salacious moan as he sucked his finger clean. 

Castiel's eyes were wide as Gabriel performed his magic casually. "A sorcerer can conjure," he said, as Gabriel held his eyes, now sucking two fingers clean with a liberal application of his tongue. Granted, Castiel thought, a sorcerer's magic required spell work, which he had not seen, and could only conjure simple things. Castiel wasn't even sure what Gabriel had conjured, although it was apparently delicious. And possibly an aphrodisiac given his reaction. "That doesn't prove you're a genie. And we need a genie." 

"For our conspiracy! Sure you do, big boy," Gabriel answered. "But look, the self-indulgent parlor tricks are free. If it's gonna take more to convince you, Dean-o here's going to have to use a wish."

"What?" Dean balked. Gabriel had not mentioned this earlier. Sam had crossed the room and sprawled his long limbs over the couch closest to Dean, eyes fixed warily on Gabriel.

"Sorry," Gabriel shrugged. "You're gonna have to use wish numero dos." He held up two fingers. "No discount, no matter how pretty my audience." He winked at Dean. 

"So, what, do I have to wish for something specific? Cas?" Dean looked at Castiel, who was frowning, his head tilted to the side as he stared at Gabriel, who was now swiping pieces of fruit through the whipped cream. 

"You could always just wish for him to prove himself to me," Castiel suggested. "That way, he can only stop once I'm satisfied."

"Oh, I'll satisfy you, alright, handsome." Gabriel grinned. He shivered dramatically as he licked whipped cream from his finger with the tip of his tongue. "The tension in this room isn't thick at all. Although these couches might get a little crowded." He gestured absently, and a crop of ridiculously frilly pillows sprang into being on the floor at his feet.

"Alright," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. Gabriel was right about the tension humming between the four of them, but Dean wasn't sure whether they were all going to fuck or kill each other first. "Gabe? Can I wish that?" 

"You could try, but wishing without knowing what you want usually backfires. Sometimes pretty spectacularly, sometimes boringly." Gabriel shrugged.

"I could just ask to see the genie's vessel," Castiel said, frowning as he considered. 

"Two things," Dean replied, holding up fingers as he ticked off his points. "One, his lamp looks like a piece of junk, no offense Gabe, so it wouldn't prove a thing, I promise. Two, it's not here."

"Where is it?" Castiel asked, seeming surprised. 

"Hidden," Dean answered, "someplace safe." _Safe_ might be an exaggeration, but with Raphael as interested as he was, keeping the lamp and Gabriel in the same place had seemed like inviting trouble. Castiel nodded his acceptance. 

"Well," Castiel said, considering Gabriel, "you have proven your skill at conjuring. We should begin with something more difficult." Gabriel rubbed his palms together with a smirk, still lounged easily on the couch. "Could you make someone fall in love with me?"

"Nope," Gabriel replied. "Can't, well, really, I _won't_ do that, or bring folks back from the dead either." Castiel frowned more, although he was actually relieved to hear it. He knew a genie's magic was powerful, but it was satisfying to know that even that power had boundaries. 

"He could take us someplace amazing, right?" Sam suggested. "Or, I don't know, conjure something bigger than a dessert?" 

"Cute _and_ smart," Gabriel beamed. "Or, hey! I could turn someone into a tiger."

"No," Dean and Sam snapped at the same time. Gabriel had spent an hour that afternoon trying to convince Dean that he wanted to be turned into a tiger. Dean was still not interested. 

"You guys are no fun. A horse?" He was met with three sets of eye rolls. "Just a suggestion," Gabriel shrugged.

"If the wish is vague in intent it can backfire," Castiel mused aloud. "But what if I already know what I want? And if Dean does simply wish for you to prove yourself to me, will you have any insight into how to do that?" 

"I'm fairly awesome at reading people, if that's what you're asking," Gabriel replied, sitting up straighter. "And intent is two thirds of the law." Dean, Sam and Castiel all exchanged confused looks. Dean shrugged. Gabriel spoke about two thirds nonsense most of the time. 

"Then you already know what I want." Castiel's voice had taken on an extra rumble, the words teasing and promising at once.

"Mr. Master here has to say the magic words first." 

"Dean," Castiel said, turning to him and sliding a hand down his side to grip his hip, "make the wish." The low urgency in Castiel's voice made Dean's stomach twist hotly.

"Gabriel, I wish for you to prove to Castiel that you are a genie," Dean wished, his eyes never leaving Castiel's. 

"Who's on first?" Gabriel crowed, rubbing his palms together. 

"When you invented a background for Prince Dean," Castiel began, smiling, "you had to choose a homeland for him. Does that place actually exist?"

"Nope," Gabriel replied, "only on paper." 

"Could you take us there anyways?" Castiel asked.

"Sure, chief," Gabriel replied, grinning. He stepped closer, gesturing to Sam to stand. "Now everybody hold hands and hang on." 

The air shimmered and twisted, pulling and suddenly they were standing in a forest clearing, tall trees surrounding them on all sides. 

Dean had been cold before: some nights in the desert were icy, but he had never been this cold. He was so cold he was certain he was going to freeze his nuts off. 

"My nuts are going to freeze off," Sam muttered. Dean snorted a laugh. 

The forest was beautiful. A thin layer of frost coated the branches of the trees around them and a light dusting of snow gilded the ground. A slight damp smell pervaded the space, muted by the cold air: rotting leaves decomposing underfoot. There was a crashing sound nearby as a rat with a fluffy tail startled at the sight of them before taking off up one of the trunks of the trees.

"I assume you'll want to see his highness' digs?" Gabriel asked Castiel. Castiel nodded. Gabriel pointed to his left. Through the trees, Castiel caught a glimpse of stone walls and towers, a hulking shape in the distance. 

"Should we go closer?" Gabriel asked. 

"We'd probably freeze to death before we got there," Dean complained.

"You could provide us with some furs," Castiel suggested. 

"And miss the chance to convince you all to snuggle by a fire for warmth?" Gabriel laughed. "Not a chance." 

"I think I've seen enough," Sam said, teeth chattering. "Dean?" 

"Yeah, me too. Cas?" Dean's toes were starting to go numb. 

"This could be an elaborate illusion," Castiel said, although in truth he had been ready to take Dean's word on Gabriel all evening. And he had never seen an illusion that could so effectively mimic scent: that was often the give-away. No trace of the familiar smells of home remained in this foreign wood. "We should return to Agrabah," Castiel said, uncrossing his arms and extending his hands to the others. Gabriel grabbed their hands tightly, and a warm gust of air found them back in the room where they had begun. Dean rubbed at his arms, trying to return the flow of blood to his skin as the snow on his sandals melted into the carpeting underfoot. 

"Convinced yet?" Gabriel asked Castiel, suddenly burdening the table before him with a host of delicacies. He stuffed a dried date into his mouth. 

"Not quite," Castiel answered, a small smile playing across his features. "You said you would be able to tell what I wanted to see, right?"

"Hmm," Gabriel hummed, "I like where this is going." Gabriel grinned and snapped his finger. The air on the other side of the room shimmered and materialized. 

"Good?" Gabriel asked smugly, heat in his gaze as his eyes locked with Castiel's. "Satisfied?"

"Not remotely," growled Castiel, stepping behind Dean to wrap his arms around his waist and bite his shoulder. Dean gaped in the direction of the enormous bed that spanned the far side of the room. Soft buff sheets and puffy pillows coupled with the small table covered in colorful glass bottles were like something out of one of his more lurid fantasies. Sam stepped closer to them, trailing a hand down his brother's arm as Castiel smiled at him. 

"One of my suitors described something like this to me," Castiel explained. "He bragged of having a whole room in his palace dedicated to a bed like this one, with exclusive purpose. He thought it would make me desire him as a suitor." He chuckled softly. "It made me desire the bed." 

"We can work with that," Sam murmured.


	12. Chapter 11: Hold Your Breath, It Gets Better

_Unbelievable sights, indescribable feelings_   
_Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling_   
_Through an endless diamond sky_

There were too many dicks in this room.

It wasn't a problem Dean ever thought he'd have, particularly given the quality of said dick, but the issue was that it was extremely distracting and he was having trouble figuring out what to do with all of them in this situation.

It didn't help that Castiel's tongue was laving at his entrance and slowly turning his brain into soup. Or maybe that was the part where he was watching Gabriel lick teasingly at Sam's cock while he fingered him open.

Dean wasn't cold anymore, but he shivered as Castiel pressed a finger into him, arching back into it as Castiel's teeth scraped gently down his back. Sam reached out an arm, pulling Dean in for a kiss as he groaned and arched his back.

"That's it," Gabriel murmured. He slid his slick fingers into Sam's hole, curling them and applying teasing pressure against his prostate to make Sam whine helplessly. Dean chased the whines with his tongue. He should want to fight this, he thought absently. But Sam wanted this too, told Dean so as he breathed the words into his mouth and fisted his hands in Dean's hair. And Castiel was licking around where his finger slid in and out of Dean and Dean just couldn't think anymore.

Sam whimpered as Gabriel withdrew his fingers but then Castiel was grabbing at Sam's leg, pushing Dean to move the two of them closer together. It seemed like he was enjoying the show. Gabriel twisted his wrist, fingers suddenly clean again.

"Gotta figure out what to do with all the dicks in this room," Gabriel muttered, and Dean grinned in spite of himself, resting his forehead against Sam's. "Sam, sweetheart, turn over so Dean can enjoy all of my hard work." Sam grabbed Gabriel for a kiss before he complied.

In the next moment, Dean's heart skipped a beat or two and Castiel groaned behind him because now here Sam was, ass in the air and wet and waiting for Dean. Castiel's hand stroked up and down Dean's back as Dean was pressing in and in and Sam groaned like it was the best thing he had ever felt.

"Dean," Sam breathed, reaching a hand back to grab Dean's thigh and pull him in tighter as Castiel slipped a second finger inside of Dean. Sam was hot and tight and slick around Dean, and if Castiel didn't hurry up and get inside Dean fast, Sam was going to have him finishing before Castiel started.

"Cas," Dean gasped, "come the fuck on, I'm ready." Castiel bit harder at his shoulder, his fingers sliding in and out easily. Whatever magic Gabriel had poured out of those bottles was a fucking miracle as far as Dean was concerned: nothing had ever felt this incredible in his life. Or maybe it was the company. He wrapped an arm around Sam's chest, pulling their bodies flush as he stilled his thrusts. The blunt pressure of the head of Castiel's dick made him tense momentarily, before he forced himself to relax and let Castiel in. He turned his head over his shoulder to meet Castiel's lips, shivering again at the taste he found there. The angle was awkward but Castiel groaned into his mouth happily.

"I really wish I had a video camera," Gabriel said ruefully. Or at least that was what Dean heard him say: he couldn't make any sense out of the sounds anyways because Castiel was sliding into him, filling him and Sam was clenching around him with a moan as Gabriel fed Sam his cock. "Your lips could make me millions," Gabriel murmured, more nonsense.

Except Dean was pretty sure he agreed with the sentiment about Sam's lips. Watching Sam as Castiel pressed his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades, his lips wet and pink and wrapped tightly around Gabriel's thickness, suddenly he had to close his eyes or he was going to come before Castiel even moved.

"Dean?" Castiel asked softly, soothing a hand over the red marks his teeth had left in Dean's skin. "Is this okay?"

"Fuck, Cas," Dean managed, shifting his hips and drawing a something mumbled from Sam. With a wet pop, Sam pulled off of Gabriel's dick and repeated himself.

"Would you two fuck me already?" he sighed, as Gabriel laughed brushed the hair out of his eyes. Dean dropped his head and grinned against Sam's back, sucking in a hot breath as Castiel gave a tentative thrust. Sam slurped as he took Gabriel back in his mouth.

"That's it," Gabriel said again, both hands stroking through Sam's hair now.

It took a few tries to figure out a rhythm, but they found one: Castiel driving Dean forward into Sam, driving Sam forward around Gabriel. It was maddening and overwhelming and better than the best sex Dean had ever managed to dream about.

"Slow down," Gabriel gasped, tugging lightly at Sam's hair. Sam moaned a little at that, barely slowing his enthusiastic sucking.

"Pull his hair again," Dean gasped, unwrapping his arm from Sam's chest to slide a hand into Sam's hair with Gabriel's. "Fucking loves it, don't you, Sammy?" Sam moaned something incoherent around his mouthful of dick. They may have only done this twice, but once was more than enough for Dean to catalogue a dozen unique Sam-kinks: the things that undid his brother in no time flat.

"Yeah, he does," Gabriel laughed, the sound utterly ragged and fucked out.

"Yeah, you do." Dean tugged at Sam's hair and felt Sam clench around him. He was hot, hot all the way down to his bones and the slick of sweat between the bodies pressed against him somehow only made him want more.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean gasped, "you're close, aren't you?" Dean doubted he could hold out much longer himself, and from the noises Castiel was making behind him, the visual wasn't helping his stamina either. "Come for me, baby boy," he murmured against Sam's skin. "You want my hand?" he asked. Sam nodded, doing something with his tongue that had Gabriel cursing hotly. Dean untangled his hand from Sam's hair, sliding it down his brother's side to wrap around his cock loosely. Sam moaned like he could come just from that feather-light touch. "Fuck," Dean gasped.

"Dean," Castiel breathed, fingers bruise-tight on Dean's hips, "I'm so close, please..."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean said, "yeah, me too." He tightened his fingers, giving Sam a firm grip to fuck into, the roll of his hips with Castiel and Dean's rhythm. Dean felt Sam tighten impossibly, and then his vision was sparking into whiteness as wet heat covered his fist and Sam began to shake through his orgasam. He felt heat pull down his spine and out into Sam, Sam's orgasam taking Dean along with him.

"Fuck," Dean heard Castiel mutter helplessly, his hips stuttering as he drove deeply into Dean, gasping against Dean's skin as he came.

Dean slipped gently out of Sam, sitting up and leaning into Castiel, the two of them sitting back with Castiel still buried inside him twitching. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, burying his nose against Dean's neck as Dean watched Sam and Gabriel.

"There you go," Gabriel murmured, thumbing at Sam's lips. "Here," he said, pulling Sam's mouth off of him and wrapping a fist around his soaked cock, "open for me," and Sam did. Gabriel groaned as he gave a few sharp tugs of his wrist, cupping Sam's jaw with his other hand, before coming into Sam's open mouth. Mostly.

"Go," Gabriel murmured to Sam, and Dean wasn't sure what he meant until Sam turned to Dean and Castiel, presenting himself to be cleaned. Dean groaned as he claimed Sam's mouth, licking around and into it, and wished he could come again because Sam's face covered in come was a sight he wanted to see a dozen more times tonight. Castiel ran a hand through Sam's hair, pushing it aside to kiss his temple and lick at Dean and Sam's joined lips as Sam sighed softly into his brother's mouth.

Dean decided that he didn't particularly mind the whole risk-of-beheading thing, if this was was the reward to be weighed against that risk.

"Maybe for round two I should turn one of you into a horse," Gabriel sighed, flopping onto his back and splaying his limbs wide.

"No fucking way, Gabe," Dean said, but his words were muffled against Sam's mouth.


	13. Chapter 12: So Long

_Where they cut off your ear_   
_If they don't like your face_   
_It's barbaric, but hey, it's home_

"I am certain, your highness," Crowley said. "There is absolutely no other explanation."

"And that is everything you saw?" Raphael demanded, pacing the floor of his chambers excitedly. His nightclothes should make him look somehow less regal but it didn't seem to matter what time of night Crowley woke him: the man was always put together.

"Well," Crowley hedged. He'd gotten an eyeful before he finally snuck away from his hiding place. It was cramped, in the wall peering through a vent, and far beneath his dignity, but as needs must. “All that’s relevant. The boy has the genie of the lamp.”

"Genie of the lamp,” Raphael smiled darkly, "right under our noses." He turned suddenly, stopped walking right in front of Crowley. “How long have you known? You have seen the lamp?”

Crowley blanched. He has not yet located the lamp: he should have kept that information from Raphael. "I had my suspicions…" he evaded.

"And you did not inform me immediately?" Raphael’s voice was dangerous. He trusted Crowley about half as far as he could throw him. "Where is this lamp?"

Raphael was more than a little convinced that Crowley hadn’t planned to inform him at all, and only came to him because he hadn’t figured out a way of getting the genie from Prince Dean. Doomed to be forever a lackey. Besides, now that Raphael needed a genie to free his heirs, Crowley likely hoped to gain considerable favor for his part in this. As long as Raphael never figured out that he planned to keep the genie for himself. Too bad for Crowley, then, that he was so transparent.

"I wanted to be absolutely certain," Crowley replied, "before I disturbed you." Raphael’s grin grew dark.

"Many thanks," he crooned, before snapping his fingers. Guards materialized and seized Crowley. "But I am certain you understand why I cannot allow you to walk around with this information. It is far too dangerous." The guard on Crowley’s left was gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. "I’ll have to lock you up. For your own safety. You understand."

"Naturally," Crowley growled, trying to hide his panic. He had talked himself right into this, and the the only thing left for him if he tried to talk his way back out was a sharp blade to the neck. _Idiot, idiot_ , he thought, cursing himself. Without the lamp, everything was lost.

Raphael couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across his face as Crowley was hauled from the room. He should have rid himself of the snake years ago, but there was that saying about keeping enemies close. It had worked out in his favor in the end, though, he thought victoriously: he was finally going to have his genie. And if it meant taking Castiel down a few pegs in the process, so much the better.


	14. Chapter 13: But Not as You Know Him

_Read my lips and come to grips with reality_   
_Yes, meet a blast from your past_   
_Whose lies were too good to last_

"Something about this seems less than legitimate," Castiel murmured to Dean, fingers idly brushing a brightly blooming flower as they walked through the gardens. Raphael's advisors had approved this activity for the morning, chaperoned as they were by a representative of each of their households.

"I have no idea what you mean," Dean answered, hand slipping from Castiel’s hip to palm his ass as he looked back over his shoulder to observe his brother and Gabriel flirting hard behind them. "Actually, on second thought, maybe I shouldn’t marry into a house that’s so lax in their courting rules. Never know, somebody might have defiled you," he teased, waggling his eyebrows at Castiel. Castiel shoved at him, no anger in the gesture.

"I'm pretty sure that was you," he answered. "And your brother. And the genie." Things had gotten a bit creative as the night wore on, none of them feeling all that interested in using their new bed for sleeping. Their walk through the gardens kept waking a lingering soreness, but for Castiel it was a pleasant reminder of the previous night. From the way Dean's hands wandered, Castiel was fairly certain the same thing was happening for him.

"I'm sure it was a terrible time for you," Dean said, all fake seriousness.

"Unimaginably so," Castiel deadpanned. They both turned as Sam giggled loudly, flushing bright red as he saw that they were looking at him and Gabriel.

"Hands where I can see them, chief," Dean teased, pointing at Gabriel, who raised one of his hands with a comically exaggerated look of innocence. "Honestly, who's chaperoning who here?"

* * *

For Raphael, gaining access to the visiting Prince's chambers had been all too easy. The vacuous guards the prince had posted outside the door did not even question the sultan, simply opening the doors before him. There was no sign of the prince's hoard of attendants in the chambers either: either they were just as inept as the guards, or they had heard from the palace servants that it was better to make themselves scarce in his presence.

An open chest sat near the bed in the center of the room, clothing spilling haphazardly out of it.

Raphael recognized a shirt the prince had worn the previous day: the prince's valet really ought to have tended to it by now. Perhaps he could offer the young man some advice in keeping his servants in line: judging from the state of the chambers, he could use it. A dull gleam in the corner of the trunk caught his eye: there, barely buried after someone had dug through the trunk carelessly, sat an ordinary looking lamp. From the weight of it, it was empty. He smiled to himself as he slipped the lamp up his sleeve and glanced around the room once more before exiting.

* * *

"So get this," Gabriel exclaimed, popping out of existence next to Sam and appearing in the branches of the tree above them an instant later, "I have an idea of what we should do tonight."

"Gabriel, it would be very bad if someone noticed you appearing and disappearing all of the time," Castiel warned, looking around.

Gabriel stuck his tongue out at Castiel and pulled a brightly wrapped little piece of candy from his pocket. He unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth as he balled up the wrapper and aimed it at Castiel’s head. Grinning, he proceeded to fall backwards over the branch, catching it in the crooks of his knees so he hung suspended upside down over the three standing on the ground.

"You’re probably going to choke," Castiel grumped, picking the wrapper from his hair.

"Kiss me," Gabriel demanded, shutting his eyes and pursing his lips absurdly.

"What? Why?" Dean asked. Gabriel opened one eye and glared at him.

"Because I taste like lemons and also I'm Spiderman and all three of you are Mary Jane," he sighed. "Kiss me." Castiel rolled his eyes and pressed a brief kiss to Gabriel's mouth. Gabriel opened his eyes and smiled. "Wait," he said, "I should have made it rain first." His expression grew thoughtful.

"Do not make it rain," Castiel warned.

"Yeah, someone would definitely notice that," Sam said. Gabriel sighed.

"Party poopers. So back to my brilliant idea. It involves ropes," Gabriel continued, crossing his wrists above his head and arching his back, "lots and lots of ropes." He grinned, but then his expression quickly changed to a look of horror. "This is very bad," he said, before he disappeared. Unlike his usually popping about, this time he seemed to have been vaporized and sucked into oblivion, like a thick cloud of smoke hovering around the parted lips of a smoker before they inhale it suddenly.

"Gabe?" Dean asked, alarmed when Gabriel did not immediately reappear after his strange exit. "What the hell was that?" he asked Sam and Castiel. They exchanged worried looks, unsure of what to do. All three turned their heads suddenly as a rumbling sound came from the palace.

"I think that was in the throne room," Castiel said. The three took off at a run.

* * *

"Excellent, you're here," Raphael said, fingers templed together before him as he sat on his throne. Gabriel had been dumped unceremoniously on his head when the lamp called him noisily to his new master. From his position on the floor, he saw his lamp resting in Raphael’s lap. "Let us begin."

"As you wish," Gabriel found himself saying, mentally screaming in horror as he stood and brushed nervously at his pants. Raphael had his lamp. Where the hell was Dean?

"I now have three wishes, correct?" Raphael asked, standing and slipping Gabriel's lamp into a pocket in his robes as he stepped down from his throne.

"Um, yes. Although there are a few rules," Gabriel said, dipping his head apologetically.

"Aren’t you a bit short for a genie?" Raphael said, stepping into Gabriel’s personal space before circling around him, observing him.

"Aren’t you kinda pig-headed for a sultan?" Gabriel muttered, barely audible. Raphael froze. Gabriel swallowed. "Three wishes," he said clearly. "No wishing for more wishes," he figured he should start with that rule, "no bringing back the dead, no making anyone fall in love."

"Fine. I have other plans." Raphael looked a little surprised at the last rule: he had been assuming that was what Dean wished for, then. Gabriel would wonder what he might think now, but he was distracted by the sight of Dean, Sam, and Castiel skidding into view through a door open to the corridor on the far side of the room. He tore his eyes away from them and back to Raphael, who seemed to be thinking hard.

"Genie," he began slowly, "for my first wish, make me a conqueror. I wish to win all of my wars." Raphael seated himself calmly on the throne, waiting.

"Yes, master," Gabriel said, snapping his fingers. He had the sudden urge to grant Raphael’s wish literally, making the man himself able to win his wars by picking up a sword on the field of battle, but leaving his armies and resources untouched. Dean, Sam, and Castiel were slipping into the chamber, though, thus far unnoticed. Gabriel granted the wish Raphael had intended, judging it unwise to capsize the boat this early in the game. Unseen, thousands of men suddenly turned the tide of battles that had been waging for years, victory miraculously imminent. "It is done," Gabriel said, trying to keep the dejection out of his voice.

"Excellent. My heirs, Michael and Lucifer, have been trapped by magic in the Far Reach by my enemies in an act of war. But now I am victorious. Return my heirs to me," Raphael said, a smile creeping onto his face.

Gabriel reached out, feeling his way towards the Far Reach, but the barrier was still in place. Dread pooled in the pit of Gabriel’s stomach. "I, uh," he said, cringing slightly but resisting the urge to duck as he spoke, "the spell remains in place, your highness. Winning the war will not break it."

Thunder clouded Raphael’s features as he stood abruptly, stepping carefully down from his throne and beginning to pace the length of the floor before it. Gabriel met Dean’s eyes: they needed to find a better hiding place, or Raphael would spot them.

"You are correct, of course," Raphael was saying as Gabriel tried to communicate telepathically with Dean. Never mind that he was mildly psychic, which was not the same thing as being telepathic. Maybe if he thought hard enough it would work anyways. "I tried to break it, but I need more power." Raphael stopped pacing and looked at Gabriel, who tore his eyes away from Dean.

"Genie, for my second wish, I wish to be the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever seen."

"Your wish is my command," Gabriel said gloomily, snapping his fingers. The air around Raphael swirled and glowed briefly, the light sinking into his skin as Raphael sucked in a deep breath. Gabriel waited, watching Dean whispering to Sam and Castiel. Raphael was breathing heavily: the new power was always a bit of a rush.

"Excellent," Raphael exhaled. He pulled a silver dagger from his sleeve, pricking the tip of his finger with it and squeezing until a small, red bead of blood appeared.

 _Lame_ , Gabriel thought: most magicians working blood magic at least had the balls to spill a few drops in the name of the spell. Even though this was completely sufficient for what Raphael was attempting. _Still lame._ Raphael whispered the words of the spell over the blood, smiling as the rush of his new power swelled through him and whipped up a fierce wind that sent every loose scrap of fabric in the room blowing violently. Then the maelstrom abruptly quieted. Raphael looked around expectantly.

"Genie, bring me my heirs," he said after a moment, frustration written across his features.

Gabriel cringed as he poked at the barrier around the Far Reach again. "I can't," he replied, his voice low. "The spell has not been broken."

"What!" Raphael bellowed.

"Hey, assbutt," Castiel growled. "I guess we aren’t descended from genies after all." He, Sam, and Dean stepped into view. Gabriel's eye caught the flash of a blade in each of the brothers' hands.

"Too bad only genie magic can break the spell," Dean continued. Gabriel frowned. What the hell was Dean doing?

"Guess you just don't have the juice," Sam smirked. Raphael grinned. He waved his arm and sent all three of them flying, slamming them into the wall. Pained grunts sounded from each man as they slumped to the ground.

"I have plenty of power," Raphael crooned. "But it is not enough." Raphael took a deep breath. "Genie, for my third wish, I wish for you to free Michael and Lucifer from the spell, and bring them to me."

"Sorry boss," Gabriel replied, "Genie or not, I can't break that spell." He shrugged. "It's blood magic, remember?" Raphael fumed, resuming his pacing as Dean, Sam and Castiel stood slowly, helping each other to their feet. _Just wait_ , he thought, realizing the trap his friends had laid for the sultan. _Just let it happen_.

"Fine," Raphael said, "fine. One must be related by blood and a be genie in order to break the spell." He whirled and stalked towards Gabriel.

"Yeah, boss?" Gabriel managed weakly.

"Genie, for my third wish, I wish to be the most powerful genie in the universe," Raphael said, voice low and dark. A look of dismay crossed Gabriel's face and Raphael grinned. Gabriel met Dean's eyes for a brief moment, seeing the glee there. He snapped his fingers.

The throne room darkened suddenly, as the air sucked into a whirlwind, centered on Raphael. He grew in size, doubling and tripling and still growing as power crackled around him and he wove a web of lightning between his hands.

"Yes!" he crowed, victorious. He held out his hand, conjuring a knife into it. He laughed, consumed by the rush of his power.

"You want to be a genie," Gabriel said, "you got it." He sighed as Raphael turned his head to look at him. "And everything that comes with it." Castiel bent to pick up the small black lamp that had appeared on the floor near Raphael’s feet. Bands of gold snapped around Raphael’s wrists.

"No!" he gasped, a look of shock on his face as he was vaporized and sucked into the lamp.

The air calmed as light returned to the room, and Dean, Sam, and Castiel stared at the lamp in Castiel's hands. Gabriel shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached the three of them.

"Phenomenal cosmic power," he said, "itty bitty living space."

"Holy shit," Sam breathed.

"What do we do with him now?" Dean asked. Gabriel shrugged.

"I could put him where you found me," Gabriel suggested. Castiel and Sam looked at Dean expectantly. "He'll probably burn through a few thousand years there before anyone goes looking."

"Good enough for me," Dean replied.

"Here," Castiel said, offering Gabriel the lamp. Gabriel accepted it, popping it out of existence in the next instant. In the distant desert, lightning flashed. A few seconds later a low boom of thunder rolled through the palace. The four looked at each other, all somewhat at a loss.

"Well," Dean said. "Great work, team." He noticed Gabriel's lamp sitting on the throne, and walked over to pick it up.


	15. Chapter 14: You're The Boss

_Say what you wish_   
_It's yours! True dish_   
_How about a little more Baklava?_

Gabriel sighed as he felt the lamp slide back into Dean's control.

"Oh," he said suddenly, "I was going to tell you about my plan with ropes."

"Gabe," Dean said, smiling. Sam was smiling too. So was Castiel.

"Why are you all smiling? It's a little creepy," Gabriel said, freezing in the middle of winding up his explanation, his hands splayed.

"This is the part where I wish for you to be free," Dean said.

"What?" Gabriel gasped. "But…" _but what exactly_ , he wondered. They had succeeded, if not precisely in the way that they had planned. Raphael was gone, Castiel was sultan.

"That is what you wanted, right?" Dean asked.

"Yes, but don't you still need your wish? How are you all gonna get married if you're not a prince? C'mon, man, I ship you three like, really hard!"

Dean wished Gabriel would make a little more sense. Castiel just shrugged.

"And who's going to have the babies?" Gabriel grabbed Dean's vest staring intently into his eyes. "Maybe you should wish for the ability to get pregnant. I read this story once that had some _really_ great ideas," he suggested. Dean looked confused.

"We won't need heirs," Castiel said, laying a reassuring hand on Gabriel's shoulder as he relinquished his grip on Dean. "Also, I'm the sultan now, so I can marry whoever I like." He smiled at the three of them. "I think we'll just change the system entirely."

"This is fucking awesome," Dean grinned.

"You don't need me?" Gabriel asked, sounding disappointed and a little desperate.

"We don't need a genie," Sam answered. "That's not the same thing."

"Gabriel," Dean said, "I wish for your freedom."

A breeze blew through the room. The cuffs fell from around Gabriel's wrists and clattered to the ground. Dean startled as his clothing dissolved back into his old, patched outfit.

"Side effect," Gabriel shrugged. "I guess this is our happily ever after, then." Dean handed him the lamp with a smile.

A messenger came sprinting into the throne room, breathless. They turned as he skidded to a stop in front of them, kneeling.

"King Odin has tendered his surrender," he gasped. The four looked at each other, surprised. Apparently some of the kingdom's armies had won their battles before Gabriel's magic wore off.

"We've got work to do," Sam said, grinning.

THE END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Say What You Wish [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491638) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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